


All That Remains

by DistantShores



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantShores/pseuds/DistantShores
Summary: An earthquake unleashes a terrifying new creature into Beacon Hills and it's up to the Hale pack to take it down
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 31
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the *first* Teen Wolf/Sterek fic I wrote over 6 years ago now. I always liked a lot of the ideas, plot points, and concepts but it felt amateur reading it back given it was my first foray into fanfics in...many many years so I took it down probably 4-5 years ago. If it seems familiar to anyone, that's probably why. 
> 
> And I was at a point where I had never written explicit sex scenes but I've long cleared that hurdle. So I re-worked bits and pieces, re-edited, and here we go, ready to release back into the world. Not explicit until chapter 3 and 4 but it's coming (and so are the characters)
> 
> My friend, SnowJob, proofed it when I first published it and most of their advice is still intact.

" _Good morning and happy Friday, Beacon Hills! It's another scorcher out today. This is the 10th consecutive day of temperatures well over 100°F as the high heat alert continues. The Beacon Hills Conservation Authority water ban is still in effect to impending drought conditions as reservoir levels have reached record lows, pre-dating all known historical records. However, rain is forecasted by the end of the weekend which will help relieve the situation. More on this and other top stories in a moment, but first we'll take a look at traffic-_ "

Stiles groans as he haphazardly fumbles the snooze button on his radio for the third time before rolling back over in bed, peeling the sweat-soaked bed sheets off of his back as he lays spread eagle in his boxers.

"Stiles! I know you're awake. If you don't get out of bed, you're going to be late for school!" his father says from outside his bedroom while getting ready for work.

Stiles rolls around in bed in protest, trying to find the cool side of the pillow. "Do I have to? It's so hot, dad. I’m desperate enough to pay for a hotel room."

"I told you already. Someone should be coming to look at the air conditioning unit tomorrow between 9:00am and 5:00pm and since I'll be working, you need to be here. Until then, we'll both have to deal with it. Now get up and get ready."

"This is literally the worst night of sleep I have ever had. The WORST! And I was possessed by a demon! I'd probably be more comfortable sleeping in the bathtub with the water spraying on me all night."

Sheriff Stilinski pokes his head through his son's bedroom door. "And you'd probably smell a hell of a lot better than you do right now. Let's go!" He hurls a towel through the open door with perfect aim, pegging his son in the face.

"Ughhhh... You try sleeping in this sauna and tell me you don't come out smelling like roses!" Stiles adjusts himself before begrudgingly getting out of his drenched bed and stumbling down the hallway on his way to the shower in a sleepy, sweaty, and apparently stinky, stupor, rubbing his messy bed-head along the way. "It's going to be a long day..." he mutters to himself, slinking into the shower.

///

"Hey Stiles! What's for lunc- Wow, you look like shit. What happened to you?" Scott asked, approaching the cafeteria table with a tray full of food. Scott settles into the chair beside Allison, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, joining the rest of the high school pack for lunch.

Stiles picks his head up off of the table, napkin stuck to his cheek. "Haven't you heard? My room was an alternate location for Mount Doom. Frodo could have destroyed the One Ring on my bed had he wanted to." Isaac raises an eyebrow at him. "I see that look, Isaac. And no this is sadly not a story of my sexcapades, as much as I'd prefer it to be. The air conditioner is broken in my house and I've been left to suffer and wilt away. Remember me fondly."

"You know the option is always open to stay with us until it's fixed. My mom would practically insist on it." Scott reaches over the table and pulls the napkin from Stiles' face.

"I would take you up on that offer in a heartbeat but the repairman should be visiting tomorrow and I have to be home to accommodate him. Dad's orders." 

Stiles missed the brotherly friendship he once had with Scott, spending countless hours at his house, staying up all night, playing video games, underaged drinking. Lately, no matter the situation, he often felt like the third wheel around Scott, as much as Scott would try to deny it. If Allison wasn't around, Isaac was, since he'd taken up the offer to live at the McCall household. Scott and Isaac had more in common anyways, both being bitten werewolves while human Stiles had no direct ties to the supernatural world. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit to feel like his best friend was slipping away from him and that he had been replaced. 

Twice. First by Allison. Then by Isaac.

And it’s not like there wasn’t a concerted effort on Scott’s behalf. He still wanted to and tried to hang out with Stiles, but Stiles often found it easier to cancel plans and not find himself placed in awkward, unwanted situations when he couldn’t have the one-on-one bestfriend time with Scott that he missed. The joys of social anxiety. Despite all their history, it was becoming extremely rare for Stiles to hang out with Scott outside of the pack.

The slurping sound from the bottom of Lydia's iced coffee snaps Stiles back to reality. “Well, I know I'll be relaxing poolside all weekend. And my doors are always open for others to join,” she says, more concerned with her loss of lipstick to the straw rather than looking at Stiles.

“You're killing me here, Lydia!” Stiles groans, ruffling his hands through his hair. “If I could make it tomorrow I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Lydia grabs her compact mirror from her handbag. He watched and she liberally re-applies her now worn-off lipstick to her lips, remembering how many years he had pined after her, wasting non-reciprocated feelings.. “What? Did I miss a spot?” She catches him staring.

“Huh? Oh! No. I don't think so. A- Allison?” he stammers as she glares over her compact at him.

“I think you did, Lydia,” as she draws her attention back to the mirror, throwing a quick wink at Stiles as he nonverbally thanks Allison for the save.

Suddenly, Scott bolts upright in his seat while Isaac literally jumps off of his chair, knocking it back on to the floor. “Isaac? Scott? What's wrong?” Allison asks, confused as the two guys have worry written all over their faces.

“Do you guys not hear that?” Scott answers back. “Isaac? You hear it too, right?”

“No, I'm here with you. What _is_ that and where is it coming from?”

“Hear what?” Stiles and Allison exchange glances. “The only noise going on in here is the loud-mouthed eating of high schoolers and everyone can hear that.”

“It sounds... It sounds like a stampede?” Isaac replies, pacing around the table, trying to pinpoint the origin of the noise that only he and Scott can detect.

“A stampede of freight trains, if you ask me. It's deafening,” Scott winces. “It almost sounds like the Earth is-” his eyes shoot wide open at Isaac.

“Get under the table. NOW!” Isaac commands as he ushers Stiles off his chair and under the table they're sitting at while Scott grabs Allison. Lydia continues to fix her makeup before Isaac grabs her lipstick applying hand and forcibly drags her under the table with him.

“What are you lunatics doing? The entire lunchroom is going to be laughing at us!” Lydia resumes looking at her lips in the mirror.

“This isn't right...” Scott looks around waiting for something to happen.

“Of course it isn't right!” Lydia snaps with an angry whisper. “We're five idiotic teenagers hiding under a lunch room table in a cafeteria full of students because YOU two are hearing things with your super powered wolf ears and nothing is happening.”

Stiles reaches over and closes Lydia's mirror in her hand before she finally admits defeat. His eyes flick between Isaac and Scott as they both look out from under the table with a panicked expression on their faces. “Guys, what's going on?” he asks.

The ground beneath them starts to rumble and vibrate with increasing intensity. Hysterical screams start to reverberate through the cafeteria, students scramble for shelter as ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights begin to cascade down and crash around them, scattering shards of glass and debris across tables, benches, and other students.

As the dust settles, a few weak cries call out from around the cafeteria but most of the students emerge from their hiding places without injury. 

"Is it over?" Allison pulls her head out from between her knees. Cell phones are beeping as concerned parents start contacting their children.

"Dad's okay," Stiles says with a sigh of relief. "But I have a feeling he's going to be pulling overtime tonight..."

"My mom's fine too and probably in the same boat as your dad..." Scott puts his phone away only for it to go off again at the same time as Isaac's and Stiles's phones. "And Derek's checking up on us."

"Seems that he and the Hale loft are still in one piece. He said he's gone to check on the house," Isaac chimes in, typing in a quick reply on his phone.

"Nice of him to check up on me, " Lydia rolls her eyes. "Anyways, my mom wants me home ASAP," Lydia says crawling out from their hiding place. "And I don't think we're going to have any more class today given the state of the school and the lack of power to the building.”

Alison quickly checks her phone. "My dad wants me back home too. Can you drop me off on your way, Lyd?" she asks. "I'll talk to you later?" she looks at Scott.

"Yeah, call me," he smiles as she runs off after Lydia, waving to the rest of the group.

"So what's the plan now?" Stiles asks as they walk out the emergency exit into the blistering heatwave.

"I was supposed to be at the vet clinic after school to help Deaton. I should head over now and see if he needs any assistance. Is that cool with you two?" Scott asks Stiles and Isaac.

"I don't see why not. I don't think anything else is going on."

"Ugh, Isaac. Please tell me you're not going anywhere. I don't want to go home to my non-air conditioned dungeon," Stiles pleads with his eyes.

"I was planning on visiting Derek if you want to give me a lift and want something to do?"

"...heat dungeon isn't sounding too bad..." Isaac punches Stiles playfully in the arm. "OW! Alright, alright. I was kidding. Let's go check on the sourwolf. See you later, Scott!"

///

The drive in Stiles’ Jeep to the Hale house is fairly uneventful. And quiet. Too quiet. The only thing Stiles can think to ask Isaac is, " _How's my former best friend doing? You know, the one I regarded as a brother before you took my place?_ " but he figured that some things are better left unsaid.

Pulling up the Hale driveway, Stiles’ Jeep lurches to a halt, blocked by Derek's black Camaro. A large fissure has been torn open in the earth across the driveway. "I know Derek's been doing some remodeling, but this is excessive, even for him," Stiles says, exiting the driver's seat to inspect the crevasse blocking his path. "How deep do you think this goes?" Stiles peers over the edge, which appears almost bottomless.

Isaac creeps towards the edge and drops a small rock down the crack in the earth. "I'd say at least 25 feet, if not more. It's hard to see where it ends. It doesn't appear very long though. It ends just beyond the tree line over there," he points. "Derek must have gotten out and walked the rest of the way."

"I guess we'll have to." Stiles kicks his foot into the dirt. "And here I was trying to avoid overexerting myself in this heat."

"It's not that bad."

"Says the werewolf."

Stiles traipses into the woods after Isaac, letting him lead the way. Walking through the woods is hard on any other day. Stiles knows from the many times he's been forced to practice with the pack, to “hone his skills and awareness” as Derek put it, at least to the best of his human abilities. Add in sweltering humidity, unstable ground, a couple of light aftershocks, and varying sizes of fissures torn across the land, and it’s enough to make even a werewolf struggle.

"Another dead-end..." Isaac throws his hands up in frustration. "It shouldn't be that hard to walk on the Hale property. We've run this countless times before!" He looks around weighing his options, "I should just jump across. It's not THAT wide and then it's just up the rest of the hill to the house."

"And leave me behind? Fat chance, buddy!" Stiles playfully slaps Isaac on the back. "And who knows how stable the ground is where you land. You could be swallowed up by the earth, never to be seen again."

Isaac drops his shoulders in defeat. "So where do we go from here?"

"I think I saw a path back down the hill. It should take us around the back of the house if we follow the creek along the edge of the cliff."

"Lead the way then!" he pushes Stiles forward.

Isaac follows Stiles down the hill, still having to occasionally divert their path to find their way around the tears in the ground until they reach the creek, now run nearly dry from the drought. "I've never seen the water level this low before. I've lived in Beacon Hills all of my life and this is unreal..."

"I think some of the water has been drained away from all the cracks in the soil too. Look at this," Isaac points out several gashes along the once wet creek bed where water is slowly draining into the earth below.

"Or, you know, that!" Stiles gestures wildly towards the cave entrance in the side of the cliff face where water has been diverted downwards.

"That's new," Isaac peers into the cave. Stiles pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight for a better look. "It doesn't look like it goes very deep."

"That's what she said..." Stiles cracks himself up much to Isaac's chagrin. "Don't you be a sourwolf too. It was the perfect set up!" Stiles starts walking into the cave.

"What are you doing?"

"Inspecting the property for damage! If a cave suddenly opened up in my backyard, I think I'd want to see what's going on with it."

"I don't know, Stiles... What about the aftershocks and instability?"

"We'll be in and out in a couple of minutes. Come on!"

"That's the name of your sex tape.”

"That's the spirit, Isaac!" Stiles leads the way into the cave, his phone’s flashlight shining brightly with Isaac following just a few paces behind. The cave is large enough for Stiles and Isaac to walk through without having to duck or crawl under too many rocks. Several beams of light crack through the top of the cave where the earth has opened up above but too narrow for anything else but the light of day to pass through.

After several hundred feet, the cave opens to a small chamber filled with sparse puddles of shallow water. "Well, here's where everything drained to... It doesn't look like there's anywhere else to go from here" Isaac says, inspecting the room while trying to avoid getting his feet wet.

"What do you suppose that is?" Stiles asks, pointing to the large speckled object perched above the water in the middle of the room. The object is surrounded by jagged rocks on all sides but appears smooth and glistens in the dull light that gleams through the cracks in the cavern.

"Doesn't look like the rest of the rocks. Could it be an egg?"

"That large? It's almost the size of a car!” 

"It looks like an egg and it's shaped like an egg... Conclusive evidence would make it an egg."

"I'd hate to be the mother who laid that egg..." Stiles chuckles to himself.

"But what is it doing down here is the big question. It doesn't look like someone could have placed it here. It's bigger than the cave entrance."

Stiles runs his hand over the sleek shell. "Do you think there's anything in it? It feels...warm?"

"Don't touch it!" Isaac smacks Stiles’ hand harder than he intends to.”

"OW! That hurt!"

"Stiles?" a voice calls out.

"Derek?" Stiles and Isaac look around in all directions. "Where are you?"

"More important question is where are YOU?" he sternly seeks an answer.

"Uhhhhhh... In a cave with Isaac looking at a giant egg?" he yells back.

"That doesn't tell me where... And what are you talking about? What giant egg?"

Stiles realizes that their voices are carrying up through the cracks in the cave ceiling. "Stay put. We'll come find you! Come on, Isaac. Let's get out of this dank place."

Stiles and Isaac emerge from the cave, sweat pouring down their faces, their collars and armpits sweat soaked. They continue their hike through the scorching summer heat along the dried-up river bed behind the Hale house. After several minutes and more failed attempts, they eventually find a clear pathway leading them up to the front stairs of the house where Derek is pacing, impatiently waiting. 

"What took you so long?" he growls, practically charging down Isaac and Stiles as they approached the house.

"Seriously? It's not exactly easy to walk in a straight line when the ground could be crumbling beneath us or had you not noticed that your property looks like a block of Swiss cheese?" Stiles snaps back effortlessly. He quickly learned that if he gave as much attitude back to Derek as he dished out, it earned him some sort of respect. He hadn't gotten his throat ripped out yet so that was at least a sign of the camaraderie they had established as a pack.

"Again with the food references, Stiles?” Derek crosses his arms. “If you're hungry, we can get you something to eat."

"What? No, I'm not hungry! Well, I am a little bit but that's not the point. There's a giant egg in some sort of cave down along the creek."

"He's not joking, Derek," Isaac says. "I saw it myself. It's a...very large egg. In a cave. That's really all there is to it."

"Show me."

"Sure. Follow me." Stiles turns on his heels as a larger aftershock shakes the property, sending him off balance and landing him on his ass on the ground, Derek smirking at his folly. "Don't follow me. Isaac, you lead. You’re more perceptive to this earthquake stuff anyways." Isaac helps Stiles back onto his feet as the trio heads back down behind the Hale house, Isaac leading the way.

"How's the house?" Stiles asks Derek.

"Some things have been knocked over in the quake, but structurally everything seems okay...Well, as okay as it can be after the fire. But there's no new damage to the repairs that have been made."

"That's good to hear... Don't want all of our hard work to be for naught."

Derek had been training the pack to work together as a unit not only through rigorous physical sessions but more team building exercises to hone their skills to work more efficiently as a team. These also included more mundane tasks that most of the pack disliked, like helping Derek repair and renovate the Hale house, which was a slow going process, or having everyone unanimously decide on a movie to watch on a Friday night in Derek's loft. With four males, three of them being werewolves, and two females, it wasn't always a simple decision. Stiles had begun to lose count of how many romantic comedies he had seen in recent memory.

As they approach the cave, Derek maneuvers his way to the front of the group, warding the other two back with his arms.

"Hrk!" Isaac slaps his hands over his nose and mouth. "It smells terrible!" Isaac turns away from the cave, nearly dry heaving from the stench.

"What? You didn't have any issues before!" Stiles asks, peering over Derek's shoulder looking into the cave, expecting to see stink lines flowing out given Isaac's adverse reaction.

"God. It reeks! Be thankful you can't smell this," Isaac says gasping for clean air.

"How are you doing, Mister Alpha?" Stiles playfully asks.

"Been better," he grimaces, rubbing his sensitive nose. "What state was the egg in when you saw it?"

"Um. Well. It was an egg? Not hatched, if that's what you mean?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that anymore. Isaac? You stay outside and keep an eye out. Stiles and I are going to go in to investigate."

"What? Why me?!" Stiles protests.

"Because your sense of smell isn’t affected by whatever _this_ is," Derek sternly orders. "Turn your flashlight on and lead the way."

“Fine. But you wolves better not be telling me I smell like a rotten egg or whatever it is you’re smelling all week.”

“Can’t be much worse than you usually smell,” Isaac cracks, taking a seat on a nearby fallen tree, well out of range of the odor emanating outwards from the cave.

“Very funny. Let’s go, Derek,” Stiles gestures with his head as he approaches the entrance. He digs his phone out of his shorts pocket, leading him and Derek into the depths of the cave. 

Stiles struggles to concentrate as he hears Derek’s labored breathing close behind him. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. The quicker we’re done in here, the better,” he coughs back in reply.

A few steps further forward, an audible crack sounds out from under Stiles foot. “What the hell?” He shines the light down to see shattered eggshell strewn about the cave floor. “Walking on eggshells. Kind of like the start of our friendship!” he laughs, shining the flashlight in Derek’s face to see his reaction. Derek scowls as he quickly backhands the phone out of Stiles’ hand, sending it bouncing across the wet and rocky floor. “HEY.”

“My sense of smell is already affected. Do you really want to shine that in my eyes in a dark cave?” he growls, grabbing Stiles by the shirt collar.

Stiles pushes Derek back, breaking his grip on his clothing. “If you broke my screen or it’s water damaged, you owe me a new phone.” Stiles sloshes through the shallow puddles and pieces of eggshell, soaking his feet as he claims his phone. “You’re lucky, Derek. My phone is fine, thank you for asking. You at least owe me a new case.”

Stiles picks up his phone and shines it around the cavern. The egg which previously sat in front of Isaac and Stiles had now been obliterated into hundreds of fragments of various sizes, spread around the cave. Pieces of eggshell could be found embedded in the cave walls, ceiling, or floating on the shallow water. Whatever was once inside the egg wanted out and in a hurry. Stiles climbs around the stalagmites and up onto the pedestal where the whole egg had been perched and peered into the empty contents. “It’s empty… So what was in there and where did it go?”

There’s no answer.

“Derek?”

Stiles reluctantly shines his flashlight around the floor of the cave, not wanting to blind Derek again. 

He’s not there. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, seriously? If you wanted an apology for the flashlight thing, I’m sorry!” Stiles yells into the emptiness. He lets out an exasperated sigh and slowly climbs down from the perch but loses his footing on his slow descent, falling backwards and slamming his tailbone on to the hard rocks below. “It’s official. I’m over today. Time to go home and be miserable in the comfort of my sweaty room.” He picks himself up, brushing off pieces of rock and eggshell from his backside, before storming his way towards the entrance of the cave. 

As the shine of daylight nears, Stiles notices the red eyes of his alpha watching him, hiding in a small nook just shy of the cave entrance. Stiles rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he approaches Derek lurking in the shadows. He would have kept going had Derek not reached his arm out to block him.

“What? Look, I’m sorry but I don’t have time for your bulllshit hide and seek games.”

Derek lets out a low, displeasing growl as he places a finger over his lips, shushing Stiles.

Stiles swats at Derek’s hand. “Don’t you shush me after what you did to my phone and then you left me in there on my own,” Stiles snaps back with a puzzled look on his face. “I’m out of here,” he pushes Derek’s arm out of the way but Derek grabs Stiles by the wrist and yanks him backwards, sending him crashing against Derek’s solid frame, wrapping his other hand over Stiles mouth. It may have been hot outside but Derek felt even warmer, his chest pressing up against Stiles’ back. 

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” Derek’s whispered words are hot against Stiles’ ear, his stubble wearing against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles nervously shakes his head.

“Can you try and keep your mouth shut for more than a minute?”

Stiles silently nods.

“Good.” The red in Derek’s eyes fades, dropping his hand covering Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles yanks his arm free from Derek’s grip and rubs his wrist tenderly as he slinks against the cave wall, sitting down on the ground behind Derek.

Derek’s phone vibrates from within his pocket: _‘Whats going on sourwolf?!’_

Stiles looks up with a cheeky grin on his face. “ _Really?_ ” Derek mouths at Stiles before jamming his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention to the area outside of the cave, trying to assess the situation.

Derek’s phone vibrates again. He drops his head before reluctantly pulling his phone out: _‘Seriously. Weve told u that u need to communicate better with ur pack and let us help u. Talk to me’_

Derek pauses, sighs, and looks back at Stiles. His knees are pulled close to his chest, mindlessly drumming them with his hands and bobbing his head with his eyes closed to imaginary music. Derek crouches on his feet in front of Stiles, stilling Stiles’ hands with his own.

“Listen,” Derek whispers quietly.

Stiles can only hear his pounding heartbeat from Derek suddenly in his personal space. “To what?” he whispers back.

“No birds, no insects, nothing. Not even Isaac… I can’t even smell him. I thought the odor was blocking my ability to track his scent but when I got here to fresher air, I still couldn’t track him.”

“Where is he?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. That, and whatever was in there,” Derek points back down the cave, “is now out there.”

“This is the kind of stuff you need to tell me! You can’t just silence me because you’re trying to figure out stuff on your own, especially when it concerns someone from our pack. And whatever hatches from giant eggs.” Derek rolls his eyes as he helps Stiles to his feet. “So, what’s your plan?”

Derek crosses his arms and leans back against the cave wall, looking down at his feet.

“You don’t have one yet, do you?” Stiles scoffed.

“Do you?” Derek retorts.

“Well...no,” Stiles mumbled. 

“Something is out there with Isaac and we need a plan to get all three of us away from here until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“OH!” Stiles fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket and quickly holds it up to his ear: _‘The person you are trying to call is currently unavailable. Please hang up and try your call again.’_

“Nevermind. Isaac’s phone didn’t even ring,” he sighs defeatedly, putting his phone away.

As Stiles pulls his empty hand back out of pocket, his ringtone starts blasting at full volume. ~EVERY DAY I’M SHUFFLING~

“STILES!” Derek roars at him, his eyes flaring red.

“HOLY SHIT!” Stiles scrambles to retrieve his phone as quickly as possible.

“SHUT IT OFF!”

“I’M TRYING!” he smashes all his phone buttons until finally he ignores the incoming call from Scott, silencing his phone. He runs his hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief.

Derek has turned his attention to the shadow now looming outside the nearby cave entrance. “Stiles, get back against the wall,” he whispered, pushing his hand flat against Stiles chest.

Stiles shuffles over, trying to peer around Derek’s broad shoulders. Heavy, labored breathing noises echo down the cavern as a lumbering beast makes its way underground towards Derek and Stiles, shaking the ground with each step it takes closer to them. The light that once shone brightly through the entrance is obscured by the body of the creature.

Derek turns back to Stiles and notions to stay put, holding his fist closed in the air. It’s too dark for them to see what’s approaching. The creature stays the course and passes by the pair without noticing them, it’s tail swinging and whipping wildly behind it. Derek quickly shoves his hand on Stiles shoulder, forcing him down as the creature’s tail snaps against the cave wall above them, sending rocks crashing down onto them, gashing Stiles above his eye, blood flowing down his cheek.

As the creature absent-mindedly continues its descent, Derek grabs Stiles under his arm and quickly drags him out of the cave and deep into the woods surrounding the Hale house, far away from the cave and whatever creature is lurking within.

“You’re bleeding.”

Stiles touches his forehead and looks at his bloody fingers. “I’ll be fine,” he says, searching around for the best escape route. “We need to find Isaac and get out of here before it-” Stiles is cut off as he is hit in the face by Derek’s t-shirt. “Um…”

“You’re. Bleeding,” he repeats forcefully, pushing his shirt into Stiles’ hand and moving it against his forehead, making him hold it in place against the gushing wound. Stiles winces as it makes stinging contact, blood still trickling down his face.

“Th...thanks?” Stiles stammers over his words, Derek standing shirtless and sweaty in front of him.

“We need to get out of here. Follow the creek downstream until it crosses the road and I’ll pick you up there.” 

“Wait! Where are you going? Where are _we_ going? And what about Isaac?”

“We need help. We need to talk to Deaton about what this is, you need stitches… And... I still don’t know where Isaac is. I can’t detect his presence at all. He’s capable of taking care of himself so we’ll come back for him. Now get moving!” Derek turns and takes off in the other direction, leaving Stiles on his own to fend for himself.

His feet already wet from the cave, Stiles wades downstream through the shallow waters of the creek, keeping one hand against his bloody forehead and his other arm stretched out for any branches, rocks, or trees that are within reach for him to brace himself on.

Not far from the cave entrance, Stiles’ path is blocked by a large, fallen tree, snapped near its base, completely spanning the creek. Too large to climb over, Stiles trudges to the dry ground near the shattered stump where he finds a strange rock formation.

“What on earth…” As he approaches closer, he starts to recognize parts of the rock formation. Human parts.

“I...Isaac?” 

Stiles stares at the statue of Isaac in front of him, mouth agape, dropping Derek’s t-shirt on the ground, blood slowly oozing out of his open wound.

“Isaac?! Can you hear me?”

No response. Stiles puts his hands on Isaac’s shoulders, hoping he can shake some life into his body. He’s cold to the touch, the skin of Stiles’ hands nearly freezing upon contact. He recoils sharply, leaving a bloody palm print across Isaac’s petrified shirt.

“What happened to you?” he asks, knowing he won’t get an answer. Stiles can feel the color run from his face as he looks at Isaac, frozen in place. He wasn’t sure if Isaac was still alive or dead but the look of terror frozen on his face was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

“I can’t help you right now. But I’ll come back… I promise.” He picks up Derek’s blood-soaked t-shirt and increases his pace, trying to put as much distance between him and the creature in the cave as possible, not wanting to be its next victim. He feels weak in the knees as he hikes his way towards the designated meeting point with Derek.

A clearing in the trees surrounding the water shows Derek dressed in a clean shirt covered by his leather jacket already waiting for him in the driveway, engine of the Camaro purring softly as it idles.

“What took you so long?” he asks, arms folded sternly across his chest.

Stiles doesn’t answer as he walks past Derek, around the front of the car, and slumps down in the passenger seat. Derek leans in through the open driver’s side window, peering at Stiles through the top of his aviator sunglasses. “We’re not going anywhere until you answer me. And I’m sure I can run faster than you if that creature comes out to play again.” Stiles cuts Derek a look as he smirks back. “That certainly got your attention. Now talk.”

Stiles sighs, wincing, trying to block out the look of horror on Isaac’s face from his memory. “I found Isaac on my way.”

“Why isn’t he with you?”

“Because…” he pauses to gather his thoughts. “Because he’s been turned to stone.”

“What?”

“I found him in an area with some tree damage so it looks like he tried to fight and lost. And whatever it was, turned him into a statue. He’s petrified from head to toe. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I have no way to tell.”

Derek opens the door and sits down in the driver seat. “We need the bestiary. We need to research petrification.”

“Got it. I’ll text Allison and have her meet us at the vet clinic with the bestiary.”

Stiles buckles his seatbelt as Derek finally gets the car moving. He pulls out his phone and texts Scott first: _‘Sorry i missed your call. Derek and i are coming to the clinic. Need to get bestiary from allison. Long story...’_

_‘You and derek? Wheres isaac?’_

_‘Will explain everything when we arrive. Be there soon’_

_‘We doesnt include isaac’_

Stiles let out an audible sigh at Scott’s stubbornness.

“What?” Derek asks.

“Huh? Oh nothing.” 

He lied.

Derek continues to stare at Stiles under a furrowed brow.

“What?” Stiles asks back.

“Nothing…”

“Ugh. You ass.” Stiles goes back to his phone, texting Allison: _‘Urgent! Can you meet at the vet clinic with the bestiary? Need to do some research asap’_

 _‘Got it. Be there as soon as I can’_ she quickly replies.

///

Derek and Stiles soon arrive at the veterinary clinic, blood-soaked shirt still pressed against Stiles forehead. They barely enter the front door while Stiles gets his hand on the swinging gate before Scott comes out of the lab in a panic. “Where’s Isaac?”

“Hi Scott. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. I’m not bleeding profusely from my forehead or anything,” Stiles quips back.

“Sorry, Stiles. It’s been a bad day.”

“Scott…” Derek calls out his name. “Calm down. We’ll explain everything.”

“Why can’t you just tell me now?” he pleads.

Derek sighs. “It’s not that simple. Let’s get Stiles patched up and we’ll tell you what we know.”

“Scott.” Deaton emerges from the back to see what the commotion is all about. “Go prepare a medical kit. We need to stitch-up Stiles’ wound before he gets blood all over the clinic.”

Nobody moves.

“Now, Scott,” Deaton calmly orders as Scott rushes off to the supply room.

“Th-thanks…” Stiles mutters.

“I’m sorry for his behaviour. It’s been a stressful day here and the animals are more riled up than usual,” Deaton says, still holding the swinging gate open for Stiles and Derek, leading them back into a medical room. Stiles takes a seat on the medical table while Deaton washes up, preparing for the procedure. “So, what happened to your forehead?”

“Short version, a rock fell on me.”

“And the long version?” Deaton asks, drying off his hands.

“Well…” Stiles pauses as Scott comes in with an arm full of bandages, needles, and sterilizing fluid. He gives Stiles a sheepishly apologetic look before placing everything down on the table beside him.

“Sorry again. We’re seriously understaffed given the number of animals we’re dealing with today. And they’re all riled up,” he runs his hand through his hair. “I’m just...really worried about Isaac and how I’m going to tell my mom why he’s not home… He doesn’t have any family left other than us…” Scott trails off.

“It’s okay, Scott. We all have bad days,” Stiles smiles at him.

“Pack is also family,” Derek states.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I interrupted you. Continue!” he says, putting down the medical supplies on the table beside Deaton.

“Where was I?” Stiles thinks to himself. “Oh yeah. We found what we think is some sort of chambered cave. It likely opened during the earthquake on the Hale property and a creature hatched from an egg inside.”

“An egg? What kind of creature?” Scott inquires.

“That’s what we don’t know yet,” Derek answers.

“We want to see the Argent bestiary before drawing too many conclusions, which is why we’ve asked Allison to meet us here,” Stiles continues. “We think we’re dealing with something with the ability for petrification.”

Scott looks confused “Petrification?”

“The ability to turn living things to stone,” Deaton answers. “It’s not very common but there’s a lot of mythology relating to it...” he trails off.

“So, like Medusa?” Scott raises his hands behind his head, waving his fingers wildly.

“I think I’d recognize a woman with snakes for hair walking around the Hale property,” Stiles laughs but quickly stops as Deaton starts treating his wound with alcohol and iodine. He winces as Deaton swabs cotton held between forceps over his cut repeatedly.

The doors to the clinic swing open as Allison comes jogging in, a bit frantic and slightly out of breath. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. There are lots of lights out across town. Traffic was a mess…”

“Do you have the bestiary?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, it’s right here,” she digs into her large purse, pulling out the tablet and handing it to Derek.

“Thanks,” he replies as he immediately becomes immersed in reading it.

“Most of the translations are done but there’s still some pages that we’re working on. What are you looking for? And oh my god, Stiles, what happened to your forehead? Are you okay?” Allison realizes Deaton is slowly applying stitches across his forehead.

“Got intimate with a falling rock.”

“Scissors?” Deaton reaches out towards Scott.

“Here.”

Deaton finishes the last stitch and removes his glove. “Must have been quite the rock for you to need 7 stitches to close that wound.”

“Thanks… Derek and I got separated from Isaac when we were exploring a cave and...some...thing...whatever it is that came out of the cave came back, knocked some rocks down with its tail, and I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Where is Isaac now?” she asks.

“Still at the Hale property…” Stiles pauses.

“Turned to stone,” Derek finishes.

“Wait, what? Is this how you know you’re dealing with petrification?” Scott questions.

“Yeah… Head to toe. He looked… He looked scared,” Stiles thinks, revisioning Isaac’s face. He shakes his head, blinking aggressively to clear the image from mind.

“So you just left him there? Is he even still alive?”

Stiles can tell Scott is beginning to get antsy again. “I don’t know. I only found him when meeting up with Derek and with blood pouring from my forehead. I don’t have any supernatural powers to detect these sorts of things. I clearly couldn’t do anything to move him.”

“And what about you?” Scott notions towards Derek, still reading the bestiary.

Derek looks up, realizing Scott’s waiting on an answer from him. “Me? I wanted to get us as far away as possible. I’m not going into battle against something I know nothing about. And he was bleeding,” he points to Stiles.

“So you just left Isaac behind?”

“Scott, calm down.” Allison places her hands on his shoulders, pressing her forehead against his. “What did you expect them to do against an unknown enemy?”

“Maybe not leave a pack member behind?” Scott pauses and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m trying not to let my frustrations get the best of me.”

“It was too late by the time I found him. And if we stayed there, you may be dealing with three statues, not just one. We have the bestiary now so we’ll research what hatched from the egg, how to defeat it, and how to get Isaac back to normal…”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” Scott sighs.

“I need to get back home,” Allison says. “My dad doesn’t know I snuck out, especially now that there’s a curfew in effect once the sun goes down. I’ll need the bestiary back in the morning to put it back before he realizes it’s gone.”

“We need time to comb through the details of the bestiary,” Derek says, powering down the tablet to turn his attention to the conversation.

“Somewhere other than here, please,” Deaton chimes in. “I have too many high-strung and injured animals to take care of for you to use this place. And I still need your help Scott, so you’re not going anywhere yet.”

“But…”

“They’ll take care of Isaac. You need to trust your pack leader.”

Scott crosses his arms but doesn’t protest any further. “Be careful, okay? And call me with any updates.”

///

Stiles gently runs his fingers over the stitches in his forehead, once again sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s car, looking at his own reflection in the passenger side mirror. Derek is behind the wheel driving towards a destination, unknown to Stiles. Stiles’ thoughts wander as he thinks about the day’s events: the earthquake, the cave, Isaac, Scott, and...Derek. It was unusual for him to spend this much time with Derek on his own. It was usually pack-based activities that brought everyone together. Derek spent a lot of time with the other werewolves but not as much with himself, Allison, or Lydia. Stiles actually enjoyed the company, given how little one-on-one time he had with anyone in recent memory. It was a pleasant change from the lonely routine he had established.

Stiles begins to focus on the trees whizzing past the car and starts to familiarize the area as the Hale property. “Where are we going?” he asks sitting upright, breaking the silence.

“I want to see Isaac for myself.”

“Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding? And your Jeep is still there.”

“Oh… You’re right. But what about the creature?” Stiles asks.

“I have its scent from when it went back into the cave. I’ll be able to tell if the property is safe to explore from a distance. We’ll park the car where the roadway meets the creek and follow it upstream until we reach Isaac.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll try my best to assess Isaac’s situation but then we should probably take the time to do research,” Derek says, holding up the tablet.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I saw what happened to Isaac.”

“Too late. We’re already here.” The car grinds to a halt on the roadway, the sound of water flowing slowly through the culvert beneath them. Derek rolls down the window, propping himself up so he is sitting on the ledge, his legs still in the car.

Stiles realizes he can’t carry on a conversation with a pair of thighs so he sits on the passenger side door to match and watch Derek survey the land. “Anything?”

Derek’s chest rises and falls as he takes in the air around him. “No. It’s gone. For now. We should make this quick.” Derek twists his body, pulling his legs out from inside the car, landing softly on the ground.

“You make it look so simple.” Stiles shuffles back inside the car, opening the door and stepping out like most normal people would. “Not all of us have the grace and tact of a werewolf. And I think I’ve injured myself enough for one day.”

Stiles looks up to already find Derek several feet ahead of him up the creek. Derek turns around and gestures with his head. “Let’s go. We don’t want to spend more time than we need to here.”

Stiles quickly matches Derek’s pace and follows his lead amongst the rocks, water, and dry edge. “He should only be a couple minutes upstream. Near that fallen tree in the distance,” Stiles points ahead to the large tree he had to climb around earlier in the day when he stumbled upon Isaac.

They soon reach their destination and Derek gets his first look at Isaac’s state. “No scent…” he mumbles to himself. “He’s just a shell of his former self. I think I can still detect some sort of heartbeat within him though.”

“That blood is mine, not his,” Stiles says, pointing to the hand print on Isaac’s shoulder.

“What do you notice about the body?” the alpha asks, quizzing Stiles on his knowledge and observation skills.

Stiles goes silent as he inspects Isaac’s petrified form. “Well…” he pauses, organizing his thoughts and words. “There doesn’t seem to be any wounds to Isaac. Not even superficial ones. Or spilled blood, other than my own.”

“So what conclusions can you draw?” Derek paces slowly around Isaac and Stiles, studying Stiles’ technique and analysis.

“Whatever did this to Isaac did it without touching him,” Stiles reluctantly answers. He turns to Derek, “just what are we dealing with that can turn someone to stone without direct contact?”

“I’m not sure. Could have been through the air or gas or some sort of spray, perhaps.”

“Good thing we have the bestiary.”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Derek takes off running towards the house.

“Hey wai-” Stiles calls out but Derek is already too far gone. “Leaving me here alone with this creepy statue…” he sighs, kicking at the ground beneath him. He surveys the area, noting only Isaac is stone. The vegetation around him hasn’t been affected. He also sees tracks surrounding him, one set of large bird-like footprints, dug deep into the ground.

“Here.” Derek suddenly reappears, throwing something at Stiles, catching him off guard with his stealthy approach.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks, looking at the large sheet of blue plastic now draped over his arms.

“It’s a tarp,” he replies dryly, as if it could be anything else. Stiles notices Derek is also carrying several large pieces of wood and some rope in his arms. Unsure of what Derek has planned, Stiles silently watches as Derek strategically sets up the sticks and branches around Isaac. “Stiles?” Derek calls out, his arm stretched out for the tarp.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hold this rope on the other side of Isaac,” Derek orders, pointing to the dangling string.

“Got it. What are you doing?”

Derek doesn’t answer and barks out more orders. “Tie the rope off to the stick at the base of his feet. We’ll be done and out of here soon.”

Stiles kneels down, tying off the rope and takes a step back to look at Derek’s handiwork. It’s a shelter. Derek has sheltered Isaac from the elements by covering him with the tarp, building a plastic roof over top of him.

“It’s not much but it’s the least I could do… It may not be raining today but things are going to change. I’m sure it’ll help. even just a little bit.”

“Allison said the curfew takes effect at sundown. We need to be off the road by then.”

“Let’s go get your Jeep and find somewhere to review the bestiary.” Derek lets the edge of the tarp slip through his fingers as he leaves Isaac alone in the woods.

“I nominate your place,” Stiles quickly answers, following after Derek. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Air conditioning is broken and I’m looking for any excuse to not be home.”

“You poor thing…” Derek sasses him.

“I know. It’s a rough life.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, air conditioning Gods!”

Derek rolls his eyes, sighing as he leads the way back to the Camaro, rather than trying to find a path through the trees and broken ground back to Stiles’ Jeep. “Once we get your Jeep, just head back to my place.”

“Should I get food on the way?” Stiles asks.

He doesn’t answer.

“Chinese or Thai? Say something or I’ll just pick for both of us,” Stiles pesters on.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll see what’s open and grab whatever I come across. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

Stiles can tell Derek is overthinking the situation at hand, lost in his own internalized thoughts. He’s completely ignoring the text exchange earlier where Stiles told him to stop doing exactly what he was doing now; trying to resolve everything on his own. Derek needs to realize that he needs his pack to do this together as a team but he wants to protect them at the same time.

///

Stiles arrives at Derek’s loft with two bags full of food. He lets himself in with the key each member of the pack was given by Derek. So long as they were his pack, his home was their home.

“I couldn’t decide and both places were still open so we have both Thai and Chinese food,” Stiles announces proudly, placing the food on the counter. “Derek?” he calls out, looking around.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Derek answers from behind a closed door.

“Don’t take too long or the food will be cold!” Stiles pops a spring roll into his mouth. “...and eaten!”

While chewing, Stiles texts his dad, _‘Caught off guard by curfew. Will be home in morning for repairman’_

 _‘If you want the air conditioning to work, you better be. Some things knocked over at home but otherwise house is okay. Stay safe and see you tomorrow’_ his father replies back

Stiles plops himself down on a stool and powers on the tablet Derek left on the breakfast counter. He positions a bowl of noodles within reach of his chopsticks and turns to the back pages of one of his school notebooks to start taking notes from the bestiary, focusing on petrification.

After several minutes, Stiles hears the click of the lock on the door behind him. “Took you long enough. Containers can only keep food warm for so long,” he calls out to Derek with a mouth full of noodles. “There’s pad thai, panang curry, chow mein, garlic bok choy, and a spring roll left for you. I figure that should be more than enough food for the two of us.”

As usual, no response.

“Derek?” Stiles spins around on the stool, noodles and chopsticks in hand, and catches Derek walking by with only a towel around his waist, dark hair beaded with moisture as he heads to his bedroom. Stiles quickly spins himself back in the other direction, turning red with embarrassment. “Whoa dude. You could have at least warned me!”

“I needed to shower after spending the day running around the woods in the blazing heat. I didn’t expect you to be here so quickly,” Derek yells back from his chambers.

“That’s your own damn fault wearing that jacket of yours, going with fashion over function. The roads were empty. Everyone was back home for the curfew, which I just barely beat here. Just put some clothes on. This is awkward.”

Derek peers his head out around the bedroom door still not dressed. “You play for the lacrosse team. You spend plenty of time in the boys’ locker room. And you call this awkward?”

“Yes! Very!”

“How is this any different from school? Or seeing me training the pack?”

“It just is, alright?” he’s burying his face back into the bowl of noodles. 

“No, it’s not,” Derek says, emerging as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. “And you should probably shower too.”

“Are you implying that I smell?” Stiles fakes being offended.

“No. I’m telling you that you smell,” he smirks, ever so slightly.

“Well, no time to shower now. I need to continue researching. I’ve found two creatures already, one being Medusa, who we already eliminated as a probable suspect, the other being something called a Basilisk, but I’ve barely made a dent in the bestiary. There has to be more than two creatures which can cause stone-effects in this thing,” Stiles says, smacking the tablet lightly with the back of his hand. “Grab me an energy drink?”

Derek reaches into his fridge and tosses a Monster Energy blindly behind him, right into Stiles’ hand. “Going to caffeinate yourself all night?”

“Unless...” Stiles downs some Monster to wash down the pills he just tossed in his mouth. “...you’ve got a better idea?” 

Derek doesn’t reply as he starts attacking the various takeout containers in front of him. “Whatever it takes to keep you going…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Stiles gets up off the stool and moves to the nearby couch, setting the tablet in his lap, phone balanced on his thigh, notebook on one side, canned drink resting against his other thigh, feet up on Derek’s coffee table.

Derek picks up his bowl of food and leans back against the breakfast counter, watching Stiles intently between bites. “Glad you can make yourself comfortable.”

“It’s no different than any other time we’ve hung out here. I just actually have the couch to myself for once and am not fighting between elbows and other limbs,” he chuckles, stretching his arms and legs out but not looking up from the bestiary. “Despite the situation, it’s kind of nice to be honest. I never get this much space to myself here. Or with you! Like some kind of crime solving duo!”

Stiles looks up as he hears the clanging sound of porcelain and metal in the kitchen sink and watches as Derek heads to his room. “I’m going to bed,” he announces without even looking at Stiles.

“Oh… okay?” Derek is gone before he can even finish his sentence. “Goodnight...I guess.” He sighs and digs for his headphones to drown out the deafening silence that now fell over Derek’s loft. He was going to tell Derek how he enjoyed his company and working together with him but it was too late for that. He even came up with a witty partner-in-crime duo nickname of Angry Alpha and Brainy Beta, except the whole not-being-a-werewolf-thing but still being a beta. Sort of. Stiles decided his efforts were best put forward with the large volume of data he had within the bestiary in front of him and surged onwards with invigorated energy.

///

Stiles bops his head along to his music, flipping through entry after entry on various creatures, beasts, and lores long since forgotten or unheard of to most ordinary people. He swipes to the next page, a medieval art piece of a tortured victim’s face that morphs into Isaac’s face that he is snapped out of his productive groove, slamming the tablet face down on his lap as he catches his breath.

“4am…” Sighing, Stiles drops his head back on the top of the couch, looking upside down at the waning crescent moon out the large loft windows. He’s compiled a short-list of creatures with petrification capabilities but isn’t sure if he’s covered everything. The vastness of the bestiary in a mostly translated dead language would seem daunting to anyone but even more so in the middle of a sleep deprived Friday night. “Maybe if I rest my eyes… Just... for...a…” he mutters to himself.

“Stiles,” a voice calls out.

Stiles grimaces and turns his head away from the voice.

“Stiles. It’s morning.”

Bleary eyed, Stiles awakens to find Derek looming nearby, the early morning sun beating down on Stiles face. “Good morning, sunshine,” Stiles forces a smile across his face as he stretches all his cramped up muscles and joints from his awkward sleeping position on the couch, legs still on the table, tablet still on his lap where he left it last night, thankfully hiding an early morning arousal. 

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and allows them to refocus around the apartment when he realizes Derek is only wearing a pair of loose fitting, thin pajama pants, slung low around his hips, leaving not much to Stiles’ imagination, which starts running wild.

“How’d it go?” Derek asks casually, completely comfortable for him to be talking to Stiles wearing very little.

“Uh…” he struggles to find words at the sight before him. “Fine. Good? Great! Things went great. Got several pages of notes and narrowed it down to a list of three creatures,” he nervously answers, trying hard not to gawk at his alpha’s physique.

“Let me see the bestiary,” Derek more or less orders, reaching forward to grab the tablet from Stiles' lap but he jerks away, much to Derek’s disdain.

Stiles can feel himself becoming flush in the face. He panics and quickly adjusts the tablet so it’s sitting upright on his lap, gripping it firmly. “Su...sure! What did you want to see in it?”

Derek purses his lips and yanks it from Stiles’ hands and lap and positions himself beside Stiles on the couch, feet up on the table, his warm body uncomfortably close to Stiles personal space, legs brushing together.

Stiles wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die from embarrassment in the moment. Well, either him or his morning hormones, whichever happens first and takes him away first. Thankfully, Derek either doesn’t notice or feigned ignorance to not make the situation more awkward than it already is for Stiles. “WAIT.” He flails his limbs in a way only Stiles can, bolting upright on the couch.

“What?” Derek asks, still flipping through the bestiary.

“It’s morning! What time is it?”

“Quarter to nine. Why?”

“Shit! I’ve got to get home or my dad is going to kill me.” Stiles jumps off the couch, snatching the tablet right out of Derek’s hands, jumping over Derek’s outstretched legs.. He struggles with his backpack as he tries to jam everything in there at once while Derek gawks at him, a little dumbfounded.

“Stiles.”

“No time to talk, Derek! I gotta go!” Stiles flails around a bit more as he scrambles to gather his belongings, being sure to face away from Derek.

“Stiles, wait! You...” Derek repeats himself.

Stiles throws his backpack over his shoulder and heads towards the door, speaking over Derek. “Can’t! If I want working air conditioning, I need to get home now. And I know you don’t want me crashing here every night. We’ll convene later to discuss everything with the rest of the pack.”

Derek follows Stiles towards the large metal door, reaching out for Stiles but it closes before he can catch up, leaving Derek alone in his loft.

///

“Shit, shit, shit. COME ON THIS IS A 50 ZONE,” Stiles swears at every vehicle he passes as he blazes through town in his Jeep, determined to make it home for 9:00am, as if any repairman would show up at the start of a given appointment window.

He rips into his driveway at 8:59am sharp and tears through the front door, diving belly first onto the sofa as if the house were to blow up if he didn’t make it home in time.

And then Stiles remembered why he was here; no air conditioning. The stifling heat envelops Stiles’ body as he rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, arm draped lazily over his forehead. “This is unbearable…” He replays the past 24 hours over and over in his head: what’s happened to Isaac, Derek protecting him in the cave, ignoring Derek’s pleas as he ran out the door. “How do I always seem to get myself into these awkward situations?” he sighs, rubbing his arms across his weary eyes, sweat beading on his forehead as the rest of his body lays motionless on the sofa. He can feel himself drifting in out of consciousness after a full night of studying in a language he barely understood. 

A loud thud startles him awake in a puddle of his own drool. The clock that was on the wall but is resting sideways on the floor thanks to yesterday’s quake reads 11:00 am as he tries to gather his bearings. Stiles makes his way to the front door to let the repairman in but when he opens it, nobody is there. “I don’t know why I expected a repairman to actually show up at a decent hour…” he groans, closing the door. 

Another thud draws Stiles attention. Upstairs. His bedroom. He grabs his trusty aluminum bat, leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs, and begins his stealthy ascent upwards. Stiles edges along the outside wall of his bedroom, firm grip on the baseball bat in his hand, and glances around his room at the open window. A quick scan of the room shows nobody within view. He slinks through the door and quietly approaches the open window, peering outside on the roof for any signs of life.

With his back turned to his room, he senses the presence of someone behind him. Tightening the grip of his right hand on the taped handle of the bat, he swings his body around, carrying the momentum of the bat with all of his might only to be stopped effortlessly by a clawed hand.

Before Stiles can process what’s going on, he’s been disarmed, bat spinning across the floor, and pinned up against the wall. By Derek.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, fierce red eyes staring Stiles down with his shirt collar bunched up in his fist.

“What the hell am I doing? What the hell are you doing in my house? IN MY ROOM?”

“You attacked me with your bat!”

“What do you expect me to do when you enter my house unannounced?!” Stiles argues back. “You’re lucky my dad isn’t here or he might have shot you thinking you were an intruder! Why are you here anyways? Did you miss me already? And you can let go of me now,” he notions with his head at Derek’s hand.

Derek huffs and releases Stiles’ crinkled collar. “I wouldn’t have to be here if you didn’t leave in such a rush this morning.”

Stiles immediately feels the lump in his throat. ‘This morning...’ he thinks as he replays his hasty escape over and over. He looks up at Derek who is already waiting to be acknowledged. “Wh...What about this morning? I told you I had to get home.”

“Stiles…” Derek sighs as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

 _‘That’s it… The gig is up. He saw everything this morning and I’m busted...’_ Stiles laments, hanging his head in shame, refusing to make eye contact with Derek. “Look. I’m sorry! It happens! It was morning and it was early and…”

“Here,” Derek interrupts him, hand outreached.

“Huh?” Stiles looks up.

In Derek’s hand is Stiles’ cellphone. “You left this behind. It was sitting on the couch where you had passed out.”

“My phone! I didn’t even realize I’d left it behind!” he hugs it like a lost pet. “Oh...Thanks for coming all the way over to drop it off,” Stiles smiles gently at Derek who remains as stoic as ever.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Mention what?” a new voice calls out. Scott’s head pops through the open window of Stiles’ bedroom to the bewildered faces of Stiles and Derek.

“Do you guys have some sort of aversion to using the front door? Is it like how vampires can’t come inside unless they’re invited? A weird werewolf quirk where you can only enter through bedroom windows?” Stiles looks between Derek and Scott.

“Seriously? Shut up, Stiles,” Derek rolls his eyes.

“Your Jeep was in the driveway so when you didn’t answer the front door I figured you might be asleep in your room… but WOW is it ever hot in here,” Scott says, sitting on the window ledge peeling off his button-up shirt.

“You think I’ve actually been able to sleep in this sauna of a bedroom. That’s cute, Scott. I’m still waiting for the repairman to come by and fix the A/C,” Stiles replies.

Scott gets a puzzled look on his face and points to Derek. “Wait, why are you here?”

“Returning Stiles’ phone.”

“Why did you have his phone? And how are you wearing that jacket in this heat?”

“I left it at his place…” Stiles answers sheepishly. “I overslept this morning after staying up way too late studying the bestiary and forgot to take my phone. Why are you here?” he asks back.

“We knew you’d be home waiting for the repair guy so we came to see how things were going with research and pick up the bestiary.”

“We? Is there someone else on the roof with you?” Stiles laughs looking past Scott.

“Oh shit! Allison is waiting at the front door. I came up here when you didn’t answer!” Scott takes off through the house, bounding down the stairs to let her in.

“Why can’t she use the bedroom window like everyone else?” Stiles pats Derek on the shoulder as he walks by to join Scott downstairs. “Looks like it’s impromptu meeting time.”

///

“So, what do you know?” Allison asks Stiles.

Stiles is sitting on the couch beside Allison with his notebook on the coffee table in front of him, Scott is on an adjacent La-Z-Boy, legs and neck dangling over either side arm of the chair, while Derek has once again picked up the bestiary and is scanning through it, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace in the Stilinski family room.

“From what I can tell, unless I missed something, there are at least four creatures which have the ability to cause petrification.”

“Four? So we could be dealing with any of them?” Scott says, picking his head up.

“Well, you brought up Medusa yesterday,” Stiles answers. “And given from what Derek and I saw, that was definitely not a snake-haired woman walking around.”

“That leaves us with three candidates then?”

“Yeah. I guess in alphabetical order. First off is something called a Basilisk, of European lore. The information is a bit conflicting about what it’s capable of but it’s a reptile hatched from an egg that they say can cause petrification or even death just by looking at you.”

“If looks could kill…” Scott says. “So, do you think this Basilisk could have been it?”

“It’s not likely. While most things seem to fit the criteria, the bestiary describes it as a tiny lizard, not more than a foot long. What Derek and I saw in that cave definitely wasn’t that small.” Stiles looks up at Derek for affirmation but his eyes don’t leave the gaze of the bestiary.

“What’s next?” Allison asks.

Stiles flips through his notes. “I have no idea if I’m pronouncing this correctly but Catoblepas?”

“A what?” Scott questions.

“Catoblepas? C-a-t-o-b-l-e-p-a-s,” Stiles spells it out. “It’s said to be a large African mammal whose stare could cause someone to turn to stone or even kill them. It seems to be some sort of wildebeest or boar hybrid with a head so heavy, it often was always pointed down on the ground, making it hard to stare down victims.”

“Wow. None of these creatures seem pleasant at all,” Allison stammers. “What’s your take on this one?”

“Well,” Stiles pauses and thinks. “I’m not sure. Given it’s a mammal, I’d have a hard time believing it came from a giant egg in a cave. And whatever it did to Isaac, it didn’t kill him. I’m not sure how a creature would differentiate between stone and death, but it only seemed to petrify him as far as we can tell.”

A sudden knock at the front door draws everyone’s attention as Stiles vaults himself over the couch and slides to the door.

“Dad? You’re not the repairman!” he greets his father.

“Nice to see you as well, son,” he says wearily, practically stumbling into the house.

Stiles braces his dad by his shoulders. “Whoa. Are you okay?”

“Didn’t get much sleep. Was only home for a few hours last night before having to go back into work today. It was quieter today so Parrish took control of things and sent me home to get some rest. And I forgot my house keys at work,” he groans, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders and hanging it on the nearby coat rack. He trips slightly on the pile of shoes at his feet. “Are there people over?” the sheriff asks, looking at the extra pairs of footwear and walking towards the family room.

“Yeah, a few people…” 

“Derek. Allison. Scott,” he nods, looking around the room.

“Sheriff,” Derek smiles and nods back.

“Hi Mr. Stilinski,” Allison and Scott greet him back.

“Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?” he asks his son.

“Sure, Dad. Be right back, guys.”

Stiles follows his dad’s slow pace to the kitchen where he props himself up against the kitchen table, his dad leaning back against the nearby countertop. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Stiles replies.

“Well for one thing, you have stitches in your forehead. Or do you have amnesia now as well?”

“Oh… It was just a piece of falling debris at school during the earthquake. Deaton stitched me up. I’m fine. Really!”

“Why would Deaton treat your wounds? You should have gone to the hospital.”

Stiles sighs. “I’ve spent too much time in hospitals in recent memory. I prefer to keep my visits to Mrs McCall as social as possible. Plus Scott was at work already and it was just easier, okay?”

His dad crosses his arms over his chest and gives Stiles the look that only parents know how to give their children. “Do I really need to elaborate on everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be careful.”

“Is that enough though? I’m getting old. I can only take so much stress!” he jokes.

“Things have changed. Everyone watches everyone else’s back. We’re like a family.”

“You’re a pack. I may be old but I know how some of these things work.”

Stiles cracks a faint smile. “I’ll be alright.” He pushes off from the table and pulls his dad in for a hug. 

The sheriff wraps his hands around his son and gives him a few fatherly pats on the back. “If anything happens to you, I swear I’m going to kill your admiral.”

“Alpha, dad. He’s called an alpha,” he laughs, correcting his father.

“Alpha. I was close!” he grins at his son. “Go on, get back out there,” he ruffles his hand in Stiles’ hair, pushing him out of the kitchen.

Stiles lied through his teeth to his father. It was better to lie than to concern him with the supernatural stuff he didn’t want his dad involved in. _He_ barely wanted to be involved with it, especially if it was a life or death matter. He didn’t even want to mention the fact that they’d already lost Isaac and there was something on the loose and possibly turning more people to stone.

“Everything okay?” Allison asks as Stiles re-enters the family room, Scott absent and presumably in the bathroom.

“Yeah, fine. Dad was just telling me about the earthquake and what’s going on around town. Not very serious.” Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes flick at him from across the room but doesn’t meet them.

“He looked exhausted.”

“He was pretty busy for the past 24 hours. He’ll be fine after he gets some sleep.” 

Stiles flops back onto the couch beside Allison as Scott re-enters the family room, wiping his wet hands on his shorts and takes a seat on the couch wedging himself between Stiles and Allison. “Sorry. Did I miss anything?” he asks sifting through sheets of Stiles’ notes in front of them.

“Nope. Was waiting for you to get back before we continued. Anyways, last creature I could find is a Cockatrice.”

Scott snickers at the name and gets dirty looks from the two sitting on either side of them. “Sorry. Go on.”

“It’s some sort of dragon-bird hybrid, with the body of a dragon and the head and feet of a bird. A lot of the notes are very similar to the Basilisk except the Cockatrice has wings and it’s presumed it can fly. It has the same powers as the other creatures in that looking at, breathing on, or even touching it’s victim will turn them to stone or kill them.”

“It sounds like a vicious, oversized chicken,” Scott says in disbelief.

“Does it say anything on any of the creatures about how to reverse the effects?” Allison asks. “Is there something we can do to return Isaac to normal?”

“Nothing that I could see. Deaton might have an idea or two. He seemed to be well aware of petrification and its effects yesterday when I mentioned Isaac’s condition…” Stiles suggests.

“He asked me to come in and help with the backlog after yesterday. I can pick his brain for some ideas and see what he has to say,” Scott mentions. “What do you think?”

“I don’t see why not. Any extra information we have is bound to help.” He shrugs and takes a deep breath, “But I think this is it. The cockatrice.”

Everybody’s head whips in Stiles direction at his proclamation. “What? Why?” Scott exclaims. “Why out of all of these things is it this?”

“Process of elimination. Based on what Derek and I saw yesterday, Medusa wasn’t even an option, the Basilisk is too small, Cato-whatever couldn’t be hatched from an egg being a giant bull… And that leaves us with the Cockatrice.”

“What makes you so sure?” Allison asks hesitantly.

“When we were checking Isaac after Deaton’s yesterday, I saw sets of prints in the dirt. Clawed prints. Still fits the bird-like description of the Cockatrice,” he smiles reluctantly at her. “Still not sure how to kill it, though.”

“What does the bestiary say?” Allison asks, leaning forward, “My family’s history has tons of notes on almost every creature known.” 

“But it’s not all translated,” Stiles throws up his hands in frustration. “Or if it is, it’s not translated well. All I was able to figure out was something about a sparkling surface being an absolute way to kill it. But that’s a loose translation”

“Sparkling surface…?” Scott thinks. “Like...when light hits water?”

Allison slightly nods her head in agreement. “It has been really dry for the past week and then suddenly it decides to hatch now, after an earthquake? Maybe water is the key to defeating it.”

“Like I said, it’s poorly translated. It could mean something else entirely,” he shrugs in response.

“Hey, maybe Lydia would have a better idea?” Scott suggests.

“She might,” Allison agrees. “I’ll get a hold of her and have her take a look at the bestiary...If he’ll ever let go of it,” Allison points at Derek, still completely entranced by the tablet in his hands.

All three of them on the couch look at Derek for a few seconds before he realizes the room has fallen silent and everyone is eyeing him suspiciously. His eyes go wide as he looks between each of them staring back at him. “What? Is there something on my face?!” Derek starts wiping his nose and lips frantically, causing everyone else to burst out laughing.

“Sounds like everyone is having a good time. That’s what I like to hear,” a smiling Sheriff Stilinski says, sauntering through the family room heading to the base of the stairs. “But I’m going to have to ask if you guys can keep it down. I need to get some sleep, or at least the best I can during this heat. Take care everyone!” he waves as he heads up to his room.

“Sorry, Mr. Stilinski!” Scott apologizes. “It’s about time I headed out to work, anyways,” he continues, rising to his feet.

“I’m going to have to take that back from you,” Allison insists to Derek, with her hand out waiting for the tablet. “I’d offer to make you a copy but we don’t need that information running rampant.”

Derek sighs and relinquishes the bestiary back to her, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, unsure as to what to do with them without the tablet in his hands as he shuffles after Scott and Allison towards the door.

“Meanwhile, I’ll remain here in this tropical paradise waiting for the repairman to inevitably show up in the last hour,” Stiles groans, sprawling out on the couch. Scott playfully tips the couch forward, sending Stiles rolling to the floor. “HEY!” he shouts, jumping to his feet, lunging over the couch towards Scott.

“Don’t suffer too much,” Scott winks.

Allison shoves Scott playfully on Stiles’ behalf. “I’ll let you know what Lydia says when I get a hold of her. She might be hard to reach when she’s poolside. You know how she can be.”

“Yeah…” Stiles trails off. “Are you sure you two wouldn’t feel more comfortable leaving through the bedroom window?” he jokes to Derek and Scott.

“Piss off,” Scott laughs back at him, punching Stiles in the shoulder. “Sorry about the way I acted yesterday. It was a stressful day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on any of you…”

“Dude! I told you yesterday it was okay. It wasn’t a big deal and it’s only natural to be concerned about Isaac. We all are.”

“I know, I know,” he repeats. “But I felt guilty about it all night.”

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Stiles smiles at him. “And don’t be late for work!”

“You’re right! Gotta go! We’ll talk to you later,” he waves.

“Bye guys,” Allison smiles as she closes the door behind her.

Then, it was just Stiles and Derek standing awkwardly by the door.

“Stiles…” he starts.

“Thanks for bringing my phone back. You really didn’t have to go out of your way,” Stiles smiles wryly at the floor. He feels Derek’s firm grip squeezing his shoulder. He can feel his heart racing as he looks up at Derek.

“De-Derek?”

“Good work,” praised Derek. “I told you your observation skills were strong.”

“Well, it was your training that…”

Derek cut him off. “Just take the damn compliment, okay?”

“Okay okay!” he beams proudly. “Thanks!”

“Get some rest. You look more exhausted than your father.”

“I’ll try…”

“And you shouldn’t lie to him,” Derek blurts out as the door closes behind him.

And just like that, Derek is gone. Stiles slumps back against the wall looking up at the ceiling in disbelief, gently rubbing his shoulder where Derek’s hand was. The creaking of the steps draws his attention as he sees his father’s feet turning around and heading back upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

The dull hum of the air conditioning soothes Stiles’ nerves as he lay in the comfortable temperatures of his bed, but it doesn’t help him sleep. He tosses and turns all night and now the sun has risen on a new day. He was racking his brain over the cockatrice. It didn’t help that any time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Isaac. If he actually slept at all, it wasn’t for more than a few minutes at a time. He heard his dad leave for work early in the morning for what was no doubt going to be another long day.

The calming monotony is broken as his phone vibrates on his desk across his room.

“Ugh,” he groans looking at his clock radio. “It’s too early for this…” 

It was 11am.

He rolls out of bed and grabs his phone off of the desk and lays back down in bed.

It was a text from Allison: _‘Answer your door. I cant climb on the roof like our friends can’_

Stiles pushes himself out of bed again in pajama pants and a loose fitting tank top and heads downstairs to an impatient Allison, pacing at the door.

“Hi?” he greets her hesitantly as he opens the front door to his house.

She busts in the door with fret and worry written all over her face. “I can’t get a hold of Lydia. I’ve been trying since yesterday and she hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls, and now when I call her phone it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t know where she is and I wasn’t able to check on her last night because of the curfew and…”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Calm down, Allison.” Stiles firmly grips her shoulders and crouches down, looking up at her face underneath a veil of her hair. “Take a deep breath with me. You’ll be okay. I’m the resident panic attack guy here. Not you. That position is already filled!” he jokes with her.

Allison laughs softly as she wipes her nose on the sleeve of her flowy blouse, brushing the hair out of her reddened face. “Thanks, Stiles,” she smiles behind her hand. “Have you heard from her at all?”

“Can’t say I have. Not since Friday.”

“Scott’s already on his way over to check on her. Your house was on the way so I stopped to see if you had heard anything.”

“Let me get changed and we’ll go together?” Stiles asks and she silently nods in agreement.

Stiles races up the stairs, stripping in the process and tossing his clothes around his room before throwing on a fresh pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. He gives himself a quick once-over in his bedroom mirror, figuring he looks presentable enough, and runs back out of his room. He skips every other stair on the way back down to meet Allison at the front door. “Are you driving?” 

“Yeah, I should be okay to drive. The roads seem emptier than usual, especially for a Sunday.”

“Let’s go.”

///

Allison and Stiles pull up on the road outside of Lydia’s house to see Scott seated on his dirt bike, drumming his helmet with his fingers. “Why isn’t he in the house?” Allison whispers as she stops the car behind him.

“I don’t know. I hope everything’s okay.”

Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the car before Allison can put it in park. “Hey! What’s going on? Where’s Lydia?”

“Ssh,” Scott silences him as Allison approaches from the other side. “Listen.”

Stiles and Allison look at each other before closing their eyes to take in the surroundings. “Silence?” Allison asks as she re-opens her eyes.

“Exactly. No sound.”

“Derek and I noticed the same thing when we were trapped in the cave trying to find Isaac!” Stiles exclaims.

“There’s nobody here. No cars, no people, no animals. It’s like everything is gone,” Scott says with concern.

“Or is turned to stone…” Stiles realizes, feeling like he’s taken a punch to the gut. “Maybe that’s why the roads were so empty coming over here? There’s no one around to drive their cars?”

“Just what are we up against?” Allison questions, looking between the eerily silent house and Scott. “How can one creature decimate the population that much?”

Scott thinks for a second before Stiles speaks up. “Well, if it can turn people to stone just by eye-contact, it doesn’t take much…”

The three of them look at the ground feeling somewhat defeated by the situation at hand before Stiles speaks up again. “But what about Lydia? Have you talked to her yet?” he shoots a look at Scott.

“No. I haven’t approached the house. I told Derek what we were doing but he didn’t reply to my text. So I waited for you guys to get here to figure out the best plan.” he paused, scratching his head. “Should we just...ring the doorbell?” 

“Is there any reason the straightforward approach won’t work? Are we in any danger?” Allison asks.

“I think if we were in any danger, it would have already happened. I was here a few minutes before you two arrived without any issues.”

“Let me just grab something from my car.” Allison goes into the trunk of her vehicle and returns armed with a small crossbow. “No such thing as being over-prepared,” she smiles, arming the weapon.

“And here I am without my bat,” Stiles pouts.

“Don’t worry. We got you covered. Let’s go!” Scott said, reassuring Stiles’ defenseless position.

They stealthily work their way up the driveway of the Martin household, Scott in the lead, Allison bringing up the rear, uneventfully arriving at the front door. Scott rings the bell twice in quick succession but with no response. He starts to pace restlessly.

“Anything?” Stiles asks Allison, who is peering through the front windows.

“Not that I can see.”

“Let me take a look from above,” Scott quickly states before ascending to the roof in a near effortless leap.

“Now what? We have no idea where Lydia is and there’s a creature running loose in Beacon Hills and this whole neighbour is devoid of any signs of life,” he sighs in frustration. “I know it’s hot out but it’s a Sunday. There should be people walking their pets or coming home from church or something! Anything!”

“I really don’t know, Stiles,” she sighs, sliding her back down the wall resting her crossbow at her feet. “This isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.”

“Hey guys!” Scott beckons from the rooftop. “I think I see her in her room!”

Allison jumps to her feet and runs out to the front of the yard. She and Stiles step back from the house to get a view of Scott from below. “Get her attention, Scott!” she yells back, sounding relieved that Lydia has been found alive.

Scott crawls over the roof to Lydia’s window, banging on it violently. “Lydia! Hey, Lydia! It’s Scott! Open up!” He waits patiently but she’s mostly unresponsive to his pleas. Scott looks at Allison and Stiles for advice. “She’s not opening the window. What do I do?”

“What is she doing?” Stiles asks.

“She’s…just sitting on her bed. She looks like hell.” Scott knocks on the window a few more times and then looks back at Stiles and Allison shrugging, hoping they have another idea.

“Keep trying! We’ll see if we can find another way into the house!” Stiles pulls on Allison's sleeve and motions they check the back of the house.

Stiles and Allison run around the side of the house. He bridges his hands together and kneels down to help her vault over the locked gate. She lands safely on the other side, letting Stiles through the now unlocked gate. They slow their approach as they near the corner of the house and Stiles sticks his arm out, halting Allison against the wall.

“What’s that noise?” she whispers behind him.

“Breathing…” Stiles hesitantly inches his head around the edge to see the cockatrice curled up in the corner of Lydia’s backyard, asleep. “It’s sleeping in her backyard. Are you fucking kidding me?!” he hisses back to Allison. It isn’t until Stiles peeks his head around the corner again to get a scope of the situation that he notices a stone body in a lounge chair. “There’s someone else back there with the cockatrice.”

Allison shuffles past him and carefully peers out into the yard and then quickly recoils back against the wall, eyes wide. “That’s her mom!” she sputters in disbelief. “We have to tell Scott!”

They run back to the front of the house to see Scott still pleading with Lydia to open the window to her room. “Scott!” Stiles whisper-yells as quietly as he can. “Lower the volume! We found the cockatrice sleeping behind the house and it...it got to her mom.”

“What? Are you serious?” Scott pushes back from Lydia’s bedroom window and slinks along the peak of the rooftop to see the situation for his own eyes. He turns back to Allison and Stiles, mouth agape, and works his way back down to his previous perch. “Lydia…” he knocks on the window. “I know you can hear me. We saw what happened to your mom. The same thing happened to Isaac. Let us in. We’re only here to help. Please?” he begs to her.

Stiles and Allison hold their breath as Scott presses his hand against the glass and a pair of fingers touch back on the other side. “Just open the window for me. You aren’t in any harm,” he calmly says, soothing Lydia’s shot nerves. 

Slowly and with small increments, the window jerks open with Scott vanishing inside. Stiles and Allison rush to the front door. It soon opens with Scott hurrying them inside and up to Lydia’s bedroom.

“Is she dead...?” a somber Lydia asks, her hair a frizzy mess, her usually perfect make-up in a state of disarray.

“As far as we know, she, Isaac, and anyone else affected by this are still alive,” Stiles reassures her, rubbing her back gently, giving Scott a pleading look for advice.

“Isaac too?” Lydia sighs, burying her face in her hands. “Not even werewolves are immune to this?”

“Deaton thinks we can bring them back, but there may be a time restraint. He’s still researching for us. Right now, there isn’t anything we can do but figure out a way to defeat it and stop it from affecting more people.”

Allison pulls the bestiary out of her purse and lays it on the bed beside Lydia. “And we think water is the key, if the bestiary translation is to be believed.”

Lydia looks at the tablet and then up at Allison. “What does it say?”

“I spent eight hours going through it and the best I could figure was it can be destroyed by a sparkling surface,” Stiles replies, a tone of uncertainty in his voice. “But we aren’t even sure what that means other than maybe something to do with water. Do we drown it? And how?”

“Is it hydrophobic?” Lydia questions.

“No clue. We haven’t had a chance to even see it until we found it today,” Stiles answers.

“How long have you been up here?” Allison asks, gently stroking and detangling Lydia’s hair.

“Since yesterday. It appeared when we were in the backyard. I went inside to get a drink and heard my mom screaming for help and then... silence. It’s been pacing around the house ever since,” she mutters, still clearly shaken. “My phone is out there too so I haven’t been able to call for help.”

“Now it’s curled up across the yard, away from the pool,” Scott explains. “Should we try to draw it towards the water?”

“If anything, we need to try to chase it in there from behind. We can’t attack it head-on or else we’re all going to turn to stone as well,” Allison remarks.

“Isn’t it supposed to rain today? It’s probably going to look for shelter soon,” Scott adds in. “We don’t have much time,” he pauses to look out the window at the horizon, checking the weather situation “Clouds already seem to be building.”

“You can get a better view of the backyard from my mom’s room,” Lydia says monotonously.

Allison, Scott, and Stiles shuffle down the hallway and creep up to the window overlooking the pool and the cockatrice. “It’s huge…” Allison exclaims at its size

“You should have seen the size of the egg,” Stiles replies. “Any ideas, Scott?”

“How many arrows do you have?”

“Uh, none?” Stiles answers first.

“Six,” Allison answers, elbowing Stiles playfully in the ribs.

“Maybe if you draw its attention to one side, I can attack it from the other side and tackle it into the pool?”

Lydia slowly approaches her mom’s bedroom, leaning against the doorway for support. “Are you guys going to get rid of it?”

Stiles looks back over his shoulder at Lydia, completely disheveled, like a shell of her former self. He may not have been sleeping well either but Lydia looked completely distraught. “We have a plan. Not sure how well it will work,” he responds, faintly smiling at her. “Are you guys ready?” he asks Allison and Scott.

“I think so. Scott?” she asks, turning towards him while rubbing the back of his neck.

Scott doesn’t respond as he’s fixated on something outside in the yard, squinting to try and gain focus.

“Scott? What do you see?” Stiles tries to follow Scott’s line of sight.

“Is… is that a dog?” He points confusedly towards the small object now growling and yapping near the currently docile cockatrice.

“PRADA?!” Lydia shrieks as she takes off running through the house.

“No! Lydia! Lydia, wait!” Allison shouts as she, Scott, and Stiles trip over each other to catch up to Lydia through the small confines of the house.

“You need to be rational about this! Stop and think about what you’re doing!” Stiles yells down the stairs as Lydia is already well ahead of them.

Scott jumps down the entire length of the staircase while Allison and Stiles struggle to keep up with his pace, but Lydia’s head start and knowledge of the layout of her house gives her the advantage as she dashes through the kitchen and out the back door. 

Scott lunges at Lydia’s ankles to trip her before she gets too close to the cockatrice but misses as he dives, landing with a face full of patio tile. The cockatrice has started to stir from its slumber as Lydia’s dog continues to bark at its tail.

Scott rises to his feet, completely wolfed-out, and lets out a soul-shattering howl, briefly distracting Lydia and sending Prada fleeing away out the back gate of the property and into the woods behind Lydia’s house.

“Prada, come back!” Lydia screams as she once again takes off running, her dog being her only priority.

“No, Lydia! Stop!” Scott yells as the cockatrice rises, its full attention on Lydia and her dog.

Stiles and Allison pause at a safe distance just outside Lydia’s house, Allison with her crossbow sights aimed on the cockatrice. They’re taken back as a second, triumphant howl rings out from the roof of Lydia’s house, signaling the arrival of their alpha.

“Derek!” Scott yells, “We have to get to Lydia!”

“We can stop this thing first!” Derek orders back, crouching down and leaping off the roof, claws and fangs focused on the back of the cockatrice as Scott launches himself in the same direction from the ground, both howling in dominance at the creature.

With no effort, the cockatrice swings its tail in either direction, smashing Scott in the gut, sending him skipping along the surface of the pool, crashing into the concrete side and slipping under the water. Derek is slammed across the hip and thrown through the backyard fence, splintering it in all directions as his body collides with the wood. The cockatrice screeches back and tramples off after Lydia and her dog.

Scott gasps for air, winded from the powerful tail strike and struggling to stay afloat. Stiles chucks his phone on the ground and dives into the pool ferrying Scott towards the edge while Allison grabs a pool skimmer, leaning the long handle out for Scott. “Don’t worry about me... I’ll be fine! Go get Lydia!” he sputters, coughing up a mix of blood and water.

“Are you sure?” Allison asks for confirmation as she helps a soaking wet Stiles out of the pool.

“Yes! Please, just go!” Scott manages to cough out, clinging onto the pool ladder for support.

Stiles and Allison nod and run to check on Derek.

“Derek! Are you okay?” Stiles calls out, sifting through the piles of wood for Derek. “Derek?”

Derek doesn’t answer, nowhere to be found amongst the rubble that was once a fence.

“He must have gone after Lydia. Come on!” Stiles orders as they run into the woods together, scared but running on nothing but adrenaline.

“And what are we going to do when we find her?” Allison asks between breaths.

“I don’t know. We just need to find her before the cockatrice does!”

They stop running after a couple of minutes to catch their breath in the sweltering heat, Stiles still drenched and running in wet clothes. The low rumble of thunder in the distance warns them of the approaching storm. “We don’t have much time,” Allison cries out in panic. “Which way do we go?”

“I don’t know! We need to move quickly before it starts raining,” Stiles realizes as time is running out. “We should split up. We’ll cover more ground in a shorter span of time. We’ll meet back at Lydia’s house if we don’t find anything.”

“You’re still unarmed. Take this just to be safe,” she hands him a taser from her back pocket.

Stiles eyes go wide with a mixture of excitement and terror. “I’m not sure whether I should be aroused by this or not.”

“Figure that out later,” she runs off in the opposite direction and is soon out of sight between the trees.

The distant sound of a dog barking catches Stiles’ attention as he sprints off in the direction he thinks the noise is coming from. The sounds become more clear but come to an abrupt halt as he slows his approach, snaking between trees with caution. He rests his back against a large tree, peering around to see the hissing cockatrice slowly approaching Lydia, cowering as she holds her petrified dog. He wants nothing more than to rescue Lydia and be the hero. He couldn’t save Isaac and it was weighing on him but at least he could save Lydia.

“Don’t worry, Prada. Everything will be okay. They always find a way,” she sobs quietly to herself as she coddles her unresponsive pet, the hissing cockatrice slowly approaching it’s next victim.

Stiles can feel his anger building up and charges aggressively out from behind the tree, arm extended, finger on the trigger of the taser. “You may not like water but how do you feel about electricity, asshole?” he roars as he takes aim at the rear of the beast.

Before he can pull the trigger, the taser is sent flying from his hand and Stiles is knocked down on the ground looking up at the tree canopy and the dark clouded sky beyond it. He lands hard on his back, struggling for air, a knee pressed heavily on his chest, pinning him to the ground. 

Derek.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Stiles flails to get free from under Derek. “Lydia is going to turn to stone if we don’t stop the cockatrice right now.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” he growls back in a whisper, his hand clamped over Stiles’ mouth, leaning just inches from his face, still in werewolf form. He drags Stiles by the back of his shirt across the ground, quickly putting distance between them and the cockatrice.

“Wait! What about Lydia?” he cries out. “You can’t just leave her!”

“Shut up. And we’re getting as far away as possible. I can’t afford for you to play savior and lose both Lydia AND you at the same time!” 

Derek whips his head back in the direction where they last saw Lydia as her piercing banshee shrill echoes through the forest, scattering what few birds remained in the trees as a deafening silence falls. However, it’s soon broken by the increasing sound of the approaching thunder crashing through the forest. The cockatrice squawks as it scurries off deep into the woods, leaving behind a new petrified victim.

Stiles legs go weak as he drops limply to the ground. “This is _your_ fault, you know that?” he spits with vitriol. “I could have stopped it.” He hated Derek in this moment.

Derek picks Stiles up under his arms and pushes him back against a tree, pressing the back of his forearm hard across Stiles’ chest, leaning in uncomfortably close to his throat. “You think a little Argent taser is going to stop it? And using that while soaking wet? Absolute genius,” he snarls aggressively. “If the taser didn’t knock you out, the cockatrice would have just turned you to stone first and then moved on to Lydia. Would you have preferred that or do you want to continue to play hero?”

Derek’s breath is warm against Stiles’ neck. He’s not sure whether to be scared or turned on or a combination of both. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Derek abruptly interrupts. “Didn’t you see how it swatted Scott and I away like we were nothing? What sort of damage do you think that would have done to a human? I...I don’t want you to get hurt. How would I explain that to your dad?”

Stiles shoves Derek as hard as he can. Derek’s arm drops off of Stiles’ chest but, otherwise, he barely moves, close distance still between them. Stiles’ arms drop to his sides as his head rolls back against the bark of the tree, looking up as the rain starts to pour down from the sky, blending in with the few tears rolling down his face. He’s exhausted but can’t stop the tears from falling.

“I’m sick of feeling useless… I can’t even figure out the damn bestiary...” he mutters, dropping his chin, rain soaked hair falling onto his forehead. Stiles feels overwhelmed with a combination of emotion and exhaustion as he struggles to grasp just how close he was to making a really stupid mistake. The last thing he was thinking about was his own safety. “I just… I…” he stutters over his words. “Sorry.”

Derek, reverting to human form, reaches out and lifts Stiles’ chin with his thumb to look him in the eye, which Stiles avoids. “You are far from useless, but you _are_ human. Not werewolf. Just, don’t make these rash decisions that put you at risk of harm.”

Stiles chuckles to himself in disbelief, being consoled by Derek of all people. “This is so embarrassing. I’m just tired and not thinking straight,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Are you not sleeping?”

“Sort of...not really...no. When I do actually fall asleep, I’m getting vivid flashes of things I’d rather not see and it wakes me right back up. Nightmares. I just… I thought I could be the hero, get rid of the cockatrice, save Lydia.”

Derek sighs and grabs a hold of Stiles’ arms. “Think for a second, Stiles. You did the research and you are smarter than this. What did you expect to happen by zapping it with a taser? Given the choice to lose just Lydia or both of you, I went with the option that gives us the numbers. It’s the same thing I did when we lost Isaac. I removed us from the situation to regroup and rethink our strategy. It’s about preservation of the pack.”

Derek was right and Stiles knew it. “Sorry, I got caught up in the heat of the moment…” he responds dejectedly.

“Stop apologizing,” he snaps.

“Sor…” Derek furrows his brow at Stiles. “Okay. And thanks...”

Derek nods at Stiles' gratitude. “Let’s get out of this rain. We should find Scott and Allison.”

///

“And then there were four…” Scott sighs, leaning his head on Allison’s shoulder while he still heals, clutching his ribs and wincing with every breath.

The foursome that now makes up the Hale pack are huddled inside Lydia’s pool house, taking shelter from the raging storm around them. Stiles is buried in a towel, lounging in a chair struggling to stay warm and awake, Derek has peeled off his leather jacket and is pacing anxiously around the small roofed area, while Allison and Scott rest sitting side-by-side against the wall.

“So, what happened?” Allison inquires, her eyes red and tired from the tears.

“It got to her dog before she did. And then it cornered her…” Derek explains. “It took off once the thunder got too close.”

“So we’re no better off than we were yesterday. If anything, we’re worse,” Scott winces again as he tries to adjust to a more comfortable position. “Now what do we do?”

“I’m not certain,” Derek answers. “We still don’t know for sure if water is the key or not. It avoided the pool and ran away from the rain, but nothing has been proven. Lydia didn’t even get a chance to look at the bestiary.”

“So far we’ve only seen the cockatrice around the Hale house and Lydia’s property, neither of which are bustling neighborhoods of activity. Maybe it’s staying out of the more populated areas for a reason,” Allison theorizes.

“Is it territorial?” Stiles groggily mutters. “It waited for Lydia and didn’t leave until it finally hunted her down. From what we can tell, there’s no one left in this neighborhood. It’s moved on to another area. Maybe it’s just trying to protect its home,” he yawns, eyes struggling to stay open.

“Could be...but how do we know where it will go next?” Scott asks.

“We don’t.” a burdened Derek replies. “We need to hunt it before it hunts us.”

“And what about the rest of Beacon Hills?” Allison adds in.

“We’re only a pack of four. We can only do so much. We need to get as much information from Deaton as possible,” Derek answers. “Can you two talk to him? Take the bestiary this time and see if he can decipher anything that we may have overlooked.”

“And what about you two?” Scott points to Derek and a fast-asleep Stiles. “Oh…”

“Let the guy rest,” Derek actually smiles at the less than graceful sleeping Stiles. “He’s been burning the candle at both ends trying to work that bestiary and his anxiety seems worse than usual, especially after finding Isaac. And now with Lydia... It’s a miracle he’s asleep at all.” 

Derek lays his mostly dry jacket on top of Stiles before he, Scott, and Allison walk back to Lydia’s house in the lightened rain. “I want to check out some more things around the area before we move on. Any new clues or evidence that we can find will be useful.”

“We still have school tomorrow. When should we reconvene?” Scott asks his alpha.

“Lunch time? Or after school?” Derek suggests. “Either should work but time is of the essence. We need to know what sort of deadline we’re working with.”

“We’ll go and see Deaton now. Hopefully he’s not too busy to help us. Go grab the bestiary?” Scott mentions to Allison before she jogs up the stairs to Lydia’s bedroom.

“We need his knowledge, however limited it may be on the subject,” Derek sighs heavily.

“Got it,” Allison returns cradling the tablet in her arms. “Scott, it’s still raining. We should leave your bike here. It’s not safe to ride in the rain.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. How did you get over here?” Scott asks Derek.

“I drove.”

“Where’d you park? I can give you a lift so you don’t have to walk in the rain,” Allison suggests as they walk out Lydia’s front door to Derek’s car parked horizontally across the driveway, partially on the lawn, headlights still on.

“Or...that!” Scott grins. “Subtlety, thy name is Derek Hale!”

“Shut it…” Derek snaps back, trying to hide a grin himself. “I was in a hurry, okay?”

“We can see that,” Allison smirks.

“Can you take care of my bike?” Scott asks, walking towards the edge of the road where he and Allison parked.

“Yeah, I’ll move it out of the rain until it stops and bring it by later today,” Derek answers, firmly gripping the handles, releasing the kickstand. “Contact me as soon as you learn anything from Deaton.”

“Will do. Say bye to Stiles for us,” Scott waves as Allison pulls away, spinning her tires on the slick road.

///

The sound of water droplets falling off wet rooftops and trees stir Stiles from his slumber. He awakens to find himself wrapped in the embrace of Derek’s jacket, still under the protective roof of Lydia’s pool house, although it had stopped raining for now. A soft mist has filled the air as the humidity skyrockets after the rainfall.

He sits up to make sense of his surroundings: Derek’s leather jacket, Scott’s bike, and a tarp now covering the lounge chair where he saw Lydia’s mom earlier. He hangs his head low as he slides his arms down the sleeves of Derek’s jacket pulling it up to his neck, wearing it backwards on himself, a size too big for him and still a little damp, but at least he feels safe wearing it, albeit a bit too warm.

Derek emerges from the between the trees, carrying a tarp under his arm, his light grey t-shirt pockmarked with spattered raindrops. He acknowledges Stiles with a simple raising of his eyebrows as he makes his way towards the pool house.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, the corners of his mouth turning-up ever so slightly. “How long was I out for?”

Derek sits on the end of the lounge chair by Stiles' feet. “About two hours. You clearly needed it.”

“I don’t feel any more rested than before…” Stiles eyes fixated on the tarp now sitting at Derek’s feet. “Been busy?” 

“Yeah…” Derek replies, looking down at the tarp. “Extra one. Just in case I needed it.”

“Where are you getting all these tarps from?”

“My car.”

“You keep a supply of tarps in your car?” Stiles looks at Derek like he’s crazy.

He doesn’t answer.

Stiles tries another question. “Where are Scott and Allison?”

“Off talking to Deaton.” Derek leans back on the palms of his hands and looks over at Stiles. “I need to get his bike back to him and figure out anything else that we can.”

They sit in awkward silence for a few moments, Stiles looking off into the distance to where he last saw Lydia. “Is she okay?

“As well as can be… She’ll be fine if we can break the spell. Same with Isaac. That’s what Scott and Allison need to learn from Deaton and the bestiary.”

“That’s a relief,” Stiles sighs, removing his arms from Derek’s jacket and somewhat reluctantly passing it back to him. “Thanks,” he smiles infectiously. 

“Don’t mention it,” Derek quickly whips his head away from Stiles. He rises to his feet, sliding his coat back on over his damp t-shirt. “Help me move Scott’s bike to the trunk of my car?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles nods in agreement and he shuffles out from underneath the towel and follows Derek, who is already pushing Scott’s bike well ahead of him. Stiles averts his eyes, trying hard to ignore the tarped body in the chair and quickly scurries past it to catch up with his alpha. “Where did you park?” he asks.

Derek bites his lip. “Out front…” he grunts. “And you better not laugh!”

“Huh?”

They round the corner to see Derek’s car. He turned the headlights off but his half-assed parking job was still there. Stiles stifles his laughter to the best of his ability but Derek still notices his shaking shoulders. “I would punch you so hard if I wasn’t holding on to Scott’s bike.”

“I’m sure if you let go of his bike, it’d be parked better than your car,” Stiles jests back.

He visibly tightens his grip on the bike’s handlebars. “Stiles, I swear to god…”

He gently pats Derek on the back. “Don’t worry. I’m not judging you.” Derek snorts in response as a faint smile appears on his face.

“Grab the keys out of my coat pocket and pop the trunk,” he orders Stiles. 

Stiles reaches over the bike and starts digging into Derek’s pocket. He loses his footing on the wet grass, bracing one hand on the bike seat, the other on Derek’s hip through his coat but still crashes head first into Derek’s arm. “Are you okay, Stiles?” he asks, quickly setting the kickstand down and checking on him.

Stiles winces as he rubs his stitches. “If your arm wasn’t so rock hard it probably wouldn’t have hurt as much.”

“Yeah. You’re fine,” Derek rolls his eyes, hands Stiles the keys, and keeps moving the bike. “Trunk?”

“Right. Got it.”

Derek lays the tarp down and easily lifts Scott’s bike into the trunk of his Camaro. He uses some bungee cords to secure the latch around the bike.

“Glad I could help,” Stiles dryly interjects.

“Didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Derek smirks back.

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.” Derek leans back against his car beside Stiles, checking his phone. “Scott says they’re done at Deaton’s. Hop in.” Derek opens the door for Stiles as he runs around to the driver’s side.

“Such a gentleman!” Stiles settles into the passenger seat, glancing over to see a toothy grin beaming back at him. “You did that so I didn’t hurt myself again, didn’t you?”

“You said it, not me.” Derek whips the car into drive as they tear off down the street towards Scott’s house.

///

“The new moon?” Stiles repeats Allison’s words.

“Yeah. Deaton looked it up.”

“What did it say exactly?” Derek asks, pacing anxiously around the kitchen.

“The effects of petrification will become permanent at first light after the new moon,” Scott replies. “It’ll be irreversible…” he trails off.

“So that gives us…” Stiles thinks and counts on his fingers

“Four days,” Derek answers. “Sunrise, Thursday morning.” Stiles scrunches up his face at him but Derek just cocks his head to the side in silent response.

Scott, Stiles, and Allison sit quietly at the McCall kitchen table while their alpha leans back against the kitchen island. The soft sound of rain continues outside. Stiles’ mind is running a million miles a minute. He’s sure the wolves can hear the anxiety coursing through his body.

It’s Scott who finally breaks the silence. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“But what can we do?” Allison asks.

“It’s still raining. I don’t think there’s anything we can do today. It’s going to be in hiding,” Derek grumbles. “I hate sitting around just as much as you do.”

Stiles sighs, restlessly picking at the skin on his fingers. “The sun is going to set soon anyways and curfew is still in effect. The three of us will need to be out of here soon,” he says, pointing to himself, Allison, and Derek. “Not to mention we have school tomorrow.”

Scott looks outside and then at the clock on the nearby microwave. “I’m surprised my mom isn’t home yet…” He sighs worriedly.

“She’s probably swamped at work. Between the earthquake, the heatwave, and today’s sudden downpour, I’m sure there’s more than enough going on to keep her busy,” Allison reaches out and caresses Scott’s hand, calming his nerves.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Scott nods in agreement squeezing Allison’s back in reassurance. “I’m sure your dad isn’t much better off,” he gestures towards Stiles.

“You saw him yesterday, and that’s about as much as I’ve seen him in the past couple of days.”

“Should we get going?” Allison asks Stiles as she rises to her feet.

“He’s out of the way for you,” Derek interjects. “I’ll take him home.”

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles.

“Drive safely and see you guys in the morning.” They say their farewells and leave as the sun is slowly setting on another day in Beacon Hills.

///

Derek pulls up his Camaro on the roadside in front of the Stilinski home, turning off the engine as they sit in silence. Stiles’ Jeep is in the driveway but his father’s car isn’t. Derek watches as Stiles’ hands ball into fists, gripping at the hem of his shorts. He’s staring straight ahead with a clenched jaw, breathing heavily.

“Stil-”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Stiles answers before Derek can finish speaking. “He’s probably just working overnight.” Stiles nervously fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket to check for any messages or missed calls. 

Nothing.

He sends his dad a quick message and puts his phone away, exhaling sharply as he lowers his forehead against the passenger side window, careful not to lean against his stitches. “But what if he’s not?”

Derek props his arm up on the back of his seat, turning to look at the tormented young man sitting beside him. “You can’t think like that all of the time, Stiles. It’s not healthy.”

“Welcome to my head, Derek.”

“Maybe this is why you aren’t sleeping.”

“Believe me. If I could shut my brain off for a few hours, I would.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, putting a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles can feel his heartbeat accelerate rapidly as Derek is trying his damndest to console him. It may not be working but he more than appreciates the effort. He picks his head up off the window and turns to face Derek, hand still on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he smiles ever so slightly, as he lightly pats the back of Derek’s hand. “I just want this over with.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Derek gently smiles back at him.

Stiles can feel his heart melting at the soft face of his alpha as they sit alone in his car, and then promptly panics in typical Stilinski fashion as his overactive imagination starts pushes to the forefront. “I should let you go before the sun completely sets. We don’t want my dad pulling you over for violating curfew!” he blurts out as he’s already unbuckling his seat belt and opening the car door.

“I can think of worse things that could happen,” Derek smirks as his fingers slide off Stiles’ shoulder. He waits until Stiles closes the front door of his house before peeling his tires and taking off homeward.

Stiles leans back against the inside of the door and bangs his head against it repeatedly. “Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth.” At least he has the air conditioning to keep him company. He didn’t want to be alone in his house though.

He reluctantly trudges upstairs and forces himself straight into the shower to wash away the various bits and pieces of the foliage he’s scuffed with. He rubs a soaped hand tenderly over the shoulder that Derek had come accustomed to handling in the recent days, getting lost in his thoughts. He was almost thankful his dad wasn’t home to yell at him for his extended shower.

Once he’s showered and fed himself, Stiles feels lost. It was nearly 11pm and he still had no response from his father. He feels physically and mentally exhausted over the events of the past two days but the thought of trying to sleep was terrifying so he seeks out any sort of distraction he can find.

He lies down on his bed, staring at his phone before he texts Scott. _‘Any word from ur mom? Nothing from my dad’_

He waits impatiently but doesn’t get an immediate reply. Then he texts Derek. _‘Make it home safely?’_

Derek replies first. _‘Yeah. Is everything okay?’_

_‘I guess. Im just avoiding sleep’_

_‘Go to sleep. You need the rest.’_

Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek’s use of proper punctuation and spelling in text. _‘I know. Im just afraid of what ill see’_

_‘You won’t know until you try. Sweet dreams :)’_

Stiles makes a disgusted sound at the cute smiley emote in text message. _‘Thanks. U 2 ;)’_ he sends back and immediately hates himself for it. “Ugh. You too?! And why did I use the winky face?” he groans as he drops his forehead against the screen. 

The sudden vibration from an incoming text message startles him upright. It’s Scott.

_‘Nothing from my mom. The line at the hospital is either busy or im put on hold until the line goes dead’_

_‘We can go by 2mrw if shes not home. Dont worry’_

_‘Thanks bro’_

“Bro…” Stiles reads out loud. It felt like it had been forever since he had been called ‘bro’ by Scott, but, in actuality, it wasn’t. It was Stiles’ tenacity at avoiding the Scott-Allison-Isaac awkward third-wheel situation; the self-imposed rift _he_ had created that made him miss the word, made him miss Scott. It was nothing that Scott had done. This was all on Stiles. Everything that had and hadn’t happened in the past year between him and Scott was his fault, and it took him a text message at a vulnerable time to realize it.

Maybe texting before bed wasn’t such a good idea. He was now swimming in thoughts of how much of a dick he had been to Scott, a completely undeserving friend, yet Scott stuck with him through thick and thin because he’s Stiles’ brother and nothing will ever change that for Scott. 

And then there was Derek. Derek, the werewolf, who had hated almost everyone at first. Derek, the alpha, who took everyone under his wing to train them, teach them, let them learn from him, learn _with_ him. He may not have always had the patience of a saint, but he tried, and that was more than enough for Stiles. Derek, the friend, who could laugh, who could smile, who could care for others the way they cared for him. Derek, the asshole, who wished him sweet dreams and replied with a smiley face emote.

Stiles screams out in frustration as he chucks his phone across his room, spinning it sideways across his desk, stopping just before it falls off. He mashes his pillow over his face until he remembers his stitches and thinks better of it, moving it under his neck, rolling over on his side and staring at the blank wall beside his bed, poorly lit up by the ambient light from outside. He lets his eyes slip close as he drifts off to sleep.

///

Stiles isn’t actually sure if he’s slept or not by the time morning comes around. He feels like he got hit by a freight train, possibly named ‘Derek’ when he was tackled yesterday, but he’s not any better rested than he was before he went to bed. His mind is still clouded with thoughts of Derek and how much he seems to genuinely care about his pack. And about Stiles.

He scans across his sun-lit bedroom, weary eyed and exhausted, before he notices the time. Class starts in 15 minutes. “Shit!” He bolts out of bed, flinging clothes all around his room as he tries to prepare for the day ahead.

“Dad! You didn’t wake me up!” he yells out his bedroom door.

No response.

“Oh… Right…” he sighs as he rushes around to finish getting ready.

Stiles makes it to school with seconds to spare and still manages to get a prime parking spot, which is unusual, especially for a Monday morning, but he’s not complaining. He rushes to his locker and makes it into class just as the bell starts to ring. It isn’t until he settles in his seat by Scott and Allison that he realizes the scope of the situation.

“Hey! Where’s Finstock? And where’s the rest of the class? It’s only us and him,” Stiles asks, pointing to Danny.

“I have a name, you know,” Danny snaps back, making a face at Stiles, who eagerly returns the favor.

“There weren’t any cars on the road this morning. I made it to school in record time,” a troubled Allison says.

“And just look at the parking lot!” Scott gestures. “Where is everyone?”

“Derek.” Stiles bolts from his seat, slapping his desk, noticing the alpha standing in the parking lot by his Jeep. “Come on! Derek’s out there!”

“Derek?” Danny questions, looking outside. “Isn’t that your cousin?”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts over Danny’s question, running out of the class with Allison and Scott following close behind.

They race through the empty hallways of the school and out to the parking lot where Derek has seated himself on the hood of Stiles’ Jeep.

“Derek, more than half of the school is missing!” Scott exclaims with worry.

“It’s not just the school. It’s all of Beacon Hills. The population of the town is vanishing,” he answers back with equal concern.

“Is this all from the cockatrice?” Allison asks.

Derek jumps off of Stiles’ Jeep. “It has to be. Take a look around.”

Scott, Stiles, and Allison scan the area outside the school. “Statues,” Stiles says in disbelief.

“They’re everywhere,” Scott notes, seeing them scattered throughout the sports field.

“Have you guys heard from your parents at all?” Derek asks looking between his pack members.

“No,” Stiles sighs, looking at the ground.

“Same,” Scott mutters quietly.

“My dad knows something is up but I haven’t seen him since Sunday morning. He wasn’t home but he left me supplies last night. They’re in my car now.”

“What do you have?” Derek asks.

“Crossbow with bolts, a couple of bolas with a launcher, snare traps, some flash bombs and smoke bombs. Only things I’ve been trained with.”

“I love that you list that off like it’s completely normal for a high school senior to be proficiently trained on an arsenal of weapons,” snarks Stiles.

“Comes with the family name,” she replies with a smirk.

“It should be enough for the four of us to make a coordinated effort on it,” the alpha says with confidence, his eyes scanning the various puddles in the parking lot. “With all this rain we’ve had, there’s bound to be somewhere we can take it down. Let’s head to the Hale property and see if we can get the upper hand on the ground we know.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s meet on the road and walk the rest of the way,” Stiles suggests as he hops into the driver’s seat, Scott following Allison to her car, and Derek on his own, racing out of the school parking lot.

///

Scott and Allison sit crestfallen on the floor in the mostly repaired Hale house. On the walk up, they paused to see Isaac for themselves. It was the first time either of them had seen one of the victims of the cockatrice up close. To say they regretted the decision was an understatement. “I feel sick to my stomach,” groans Scott.

“Now you see why I haven’t been sleeping,” Stiles sympathizes with them. “At least I didn’t see Lydia...” he trails off, looking up at Derek from his seated position, thankful that he was able to take care of protecting her with the tarp on his own.

“We don’t have time for this,” Derek insists. “We need to have a plan. The biggest body of water is the reservoir. After yesterday’s heavy rainfall, there should be more than enough water. We need to draw it there and get it in the water.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” asks Stiles.

“Scott and I should have a speed advantage on the terrain down there where the ground is more stable. Allison has the weapons. The four of us combined should be able to trap this thing. It’s also going to rain soon, so it’ll probably try to run back into its cave for shelter. If we can keep it out of there, we might have a chance.”

“Are you sure this is going to work? We’re trying to defeat something that we can’t make direct eye contact with,” Stiles says with uncertainty.

“Unless you have a better idea, this is the best we have,” Derek retorts.

Scott looks up at Derek from the floor. “So, you and I get its attention, distract it, pull it towards the water, Stiles and Allison use what they can to take it down?”

“Once it’s at the water’s edge, Stiles and I can fire off some smoke bombs and flash grenades, avert its vision, take down its legs with some bolas. If we need to injure it, I’ll have my crossbow. We can do this,” Allison says with confidence.

Everyone nods silently and with some hesitation, but they know what needs to be done, for Isaac, for Lydia, for their parents, and for Beacon Hills.

///

Allison plants a pressure sensitive flash bomb at the entrance to the cave and signals to Derek and Scott, perched high above the cave entrance, waiting patiently for any signs of the cockatrice, Stiles waiting impatiently to feel useful in some manner. The two werewolves wave as Allison and Stiles begin their foray downstream towards the reservoir. They watch from the trees as the darkening clouds in the distance signal they won’t need to wait for long.

“If anything happens to me, you need to take care of Allison and Stiles,” Scott orders.

“I will,” Derek solemnly swears back. “And...same…”

Scott nods.

His attention is drawn back to the forest reserve as thrashing noises echo through the trees. He puts a finger up to his lips to silence Scott as they focus on the beast below. They wait and bide their time as the cockatrice slowly approaches its cave entrance, crawling over rocks and fallen trees spanning the raging waters of the creek.

Derek and Scott cover their light-sensitive eyes in preparation for the armed flash bomb about to detonate. The cockatrice hisses violently as the bomb explodes in a burst of light.

“NOW!” Derek orders as he and Scott wolf-out and slam down to the ground on either side of the cockatrice, dragging their claws along the length of its neck. They flip back from the wounded creature and immediately take off downstream at full speed.

“Where are we going exactly?” Scott yells to Derek as they dodge in between trees and boulders.

“Follow my lead! This leads right down to the reservoir!” he yells back.

They vault over their vehicles with the cockatrice hot on their heels. It squawks in protest, crashing into the side of the road lacking the physicality of a werewolf to move with such ease and grace.

Derek howls ahead to signal to Stiles and Allison of their impending arrival.

“Ready?” Allison yells from one side of the creek.

“As I’ll ever be!” Stiles answers, controlling his breathing while taking aim with the bola launcher.

Derek and Scott hit the edge of the reservoir and split in opposite directions, Derek over the creek and behind Allison, Scott over by Stiles, bewildering the cockatrice as its prey scatters. It comes skidding to a halt on the sandy shore, struggling to gain traction on the fine sand as it slides towards the choppy waters of the reservoir.

“NOW!” Allison shouts as she lobs a smoke bomb and a flash bomb from either hand before ripping her crossbow off of her back and firing several bolts at the open wounds in the neck of the cockatrice.

Stiles steadies himself and lines up his sight before firing the bolas, striking the feet of the cockatrice and entangling them before it falls headfirst to the ground. He quickly reloads and fires another shot at its neck, the bolas wrapping itself around tightly.

The group keeps its distance behind the downed creature as the storm approaches with frightening speed.

“Is that it? Is it over?” Scott hesitantly asks Derek from across the creek.

“We wait and see,” Derek sternly says.

“Shouldn’t we seek shelter?” Allison asks worriedly. “This storm looks nasty.”

“No! We have to see it through!” Derek orders as he yells over the howling wind.

The heavy rain front can be seen clear across the reservoir as it inches closer to the cockatrice. Everyone holds their breath as it starts thrashing wildly in anticipation of the rain. It crashes down onto shore and they’re all soon soaked to the bone as they watch the cockatrice whither on the ground. 

“We did it?” Stiles yells over the pounding storm, rain pouring down his face.

“I…” Derek pauses. “I’m not sure.” Derek cautiously positions himself in front of Allison while Scott shields himself in front of Stiles. 

They’re all taken back when the wingspan on the cockatrice springs to life, lifting it off the ground, easily tossing the bolas wrapped around its neck aside and breaking the strings binding its feet, sending the cords and balls scattering in all directions.

“RUN!” Derek howls as he and Allison take off in one direction while Scott and Stiles run along the shore line, up the hill of the embankment and back into the woods.

“Where are we going?!” Stiles yells as he struggles to keep up with Scott.

“Follow me! Come on, Stiles!” Scott waits to help push him along as his footing slides on the wet terrain beneath him.

Scott helps Stiles over, under, and around trees as they race between the thick underbrush and sparse areas of reforested trees, sticks scraping at their exposed skin as they scurry through the woods at a frightening pace, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the hunting predator, but it isn’t working.

“Scott, I can’t do this. I can’t keep up with you,” an exhausted Stiles sputters, struggling for breath as he leans against a wet tree, soaked to the bone. “I’m only slowing you down!”

“I am NOT leaving you behind. Get up!” Scott encourages him.

“No, Scott! I know my limits. I’m not a werewolf. Go. Just go!” Stiles screams at him.

“Get on my back,” he orders.

Stiles looks at Scott like he’s crazy. “What?! That won’t help either of us! Derek told me to do what’s best for the pack. Leave me here!”

Scott looks around for a way out, panicking, before his eyes go wide. “I have an idea. Follow me!”

Scott leads Stiles into an area of thick, dense vegetation, already weighed down by the heavy rain falling. “Where are we going?” Stiles yells at the back of Scott, rain and wind pelting their faces.

“This should take us to the cliff overlooking the reservoir. We can climb down from here.”

They breach a clearing in the trees and find themselves on a small rock outcrop twenty feet above the swollen reservoir below. “You expect me to be able to climb down this?! I could barely keep up with you!”

“No time to discuss! You lead. I’ll follow,” Scott orders, frequently looking over his shoulder at the increasing noise of the cockatrice as it approaches.

Stiles looks around in disbelief before lowering his body to the ground, crawling closer to the edge, grabbing onto some vines and gripping the rocks as tightly as possible, his legs now dangling over the edge of the cliff. “Scott, I… I don’t think I can do this. My hands are already slipping,” he cries out as he struggles to secure his hands somewhere as the wind whips the vines around. “Help! Pull me back up!”

Scott kneels down in front of him, reaching out through the driving wind and rain. “Here!” Scott offers his hands to Stiles, which he gladly grabs on to. But he doesn’t pull Stiles up.

“Scott. What are you waiting for? We don’t have time for this shit!”

“I know... I’m following Derek’s advice,” he says somberly.

“What are you talking about?!”

“Doing what’s best for the pack.”

“Scott! Come on, buddy. This isn’t funny. Pull me up!” Stiles struggles to regain his footing but his feet are simply sliding off the rocks as the rain cascades down over them.

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Scott lays down on his stomach on the ground, still holding firmly onto Stiles hands as he slowly maneuvers him further away from the rocky edge. “You’re the smart one. The pack needs your intelligence more than it needs me. This is what’s best for everyone.”

“What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!” Stiles screams through the tears and rain pouring down his face. “Don’t do this, Scott! There has to be another way!”

“We don’t have time for another way… This thing is going to hunt each one of us down until it gets all of us.” Scott struggles with his emotions as the rain slides down his forearms and across his hands, adjoined with Stiles. “We were wrong about the water. You figured out the cockatrice. You’ll figure this out. With or without me.”

“Scott! Please, Scott!” pleads Stiles.

Scott’s attention is pulled away from Stiles as the sound of heavy footsteps gets increasingly louder with every second. “It’s okay, Stiles. You can do this. I believe in the pack. I believe in you.”

“I can’t do this without you!” Stiles cries out. “I need you.”

“Yes, you can. I know you can. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“Scott! I’m slipping!” Stiles panics as he can feel his fingers slowly sliding through Scott’s grip.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days when this is all over. I’m sorry. I love you, bro.” Scott forces a smile on to his face as he releases Stiles’ hands. 

Stiles’ eyes go wide as his hands slide through Scott’s fingertips, panicking, frantically trying to regain his grip. 

“SCOTT! SCOTT, NO!”

It all happens in slow motion. Each finger breaks free of Scott’s grip, Stiles feeling the pull of gravity winning the battle. He screams out as he free falls towards the reservoir below.

Scott’s howl roars out as he launches himself away from the cliff edge and back into the forest. 

It’s the last sound Stiles hears as his back slams hard against the water and he plunges beneath the surface.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles bursts through the surface of the dark water, gasping for air, doing his best to maintain his composure and not panic

“SCOTT!” he yells, but his voice is drowned out by the storm still raging around him. “SCOTT!” he calls again, voice straining and hoarse. “FUCK!” he thrashes in the water in anger, frustration, and sadness. “What the fuck did you go and do that for you fucking idiot?!” he cries out.

He treads water, staring up at the cliff above him for any signs of Scott but there’s nothing. He’s cold, wet, and not quite sure what to do. He can feel his heart pumping with adrenaline but manages to keep his anxiety under control. With lightning flashing around him, he knows his first priority is to get out of water and to safety, and as far away from the cockatrice as possible. Scott’s sacrifice couldn’t be for naught.

He swims to the opposite shore, looking for any area where the ground is low enough that he can crawl to safety. He’s exhausted and low on energy, splashing around frantically, looking for any escape. As he struggles to keep his head above the water, a pair of arms reach out from the above the rocks, firmly gripping Stiles forearms, slowly and gradually pulling him out of the water onto land.

“Al-” Stiles starts to say before he’s coughing up mouthfuls of water.

Allison kneels down beside Stiles and firmly hits his back to help him release more water. “Are you okay?”

Stiles wheezes as he clears his lungs, falling over on his hands and knees, heaving and struggling for air.

“Stiles! Come on! Help me!” Allison demands as she reaches out over the water again.

He tilts his head and looks at her out of the corner of his bloodshot weary eyes.

“Stiles, please!” she cries out again. “I can’t see Scott!”

“Scott...Scott’s not there…” he drops his head.

“What do you mean he’s not there?”

Stiles doesn’t answer.

“Stiles! Where is he?!” she yells at him through her tears, her rain-soaked hair snaking around her face and neck. “I heard his howl!”

He doesn’t want to tell her. He doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. 

“Stiles. PLEASE,” she pleads, dropping to her hands and knees beside him.

He finally musters up enough strength to simply point to the outcrop where he fell from. Before he can drop his arm back down to support his weight, Allison has taken off sprinting at full speed, loading her crossbow.

“NO! ALLISON WA-” he calls out but is halted as he coughs up even more water. He gasps for air between spurts of water, his vision greying out around him. He pants for breath and reaches out for Allison, collapsing on the edge of the water.

///

Stiles jolts awake suddenly, confused as to where he is and how he got there, his heart racing. Faint light still trickles into the room where he wakes but he concludes it must be late in the day.

He’s still in damp clothes as he’s laying on a worn-out sofa, covered in a musty smelling blanket, a balled up towel behind his head. He sits up to try and make sense of his surroundings. He can feel the burn of his throat, strained and worn raw, his head pounding. There’s a neatly folded up set of clothes on the nearby table, clearly too large for Stiles but obviously meant for him to change into.

Stiles’ eyes adjust to the dull-lit room as he recognizes the location being the old Hale house. The sound of rain continues outside but otherwise, Stiles is alone to the sound of his own thoughts. He checks his phone in his pocket for the time but it’s off, ruined when he hit the water.

He quietly strips off his wet clothes and changes into the oversized pants and shirt left out for him, hanging his soaked articles in the nearby unfinished bathroom. They’re clearly some of Derek’s clothes given the size and style. He wraps himself in the blanket and slowly works his way from room to room looking for someone other than himself. He’s alone in the Hale house, no signs of Scott, Allison, or Derek but someone brought him there.

He ascends the central staircase to the sound of dripping water getting increasingly louder. Stiles gets a confused look on his face as he stumbles into a room exposed to the sky above. The floor is covered with various containers: buckets, paint cans, and mason jars, catching various drips and streams of water trickling in from outside.

_“But we patched the roof…”_ he thinks to himself, of the repairs the pack had been arduously working on for many months. “ _Or at least covered it up with...”_

And that’s when he sees a small, jumbled pile in the corner: Tarps.

_“Is that what you’ve been doing, Derek?”_

Derek had been pulling the tarps off the roof of the house to protect the petrified pack.

Stiles replaces the full containers with empty ones as he dumps the excess water out the nearby window.

He finishes his sluggish tour of the house, still alone with his wandering thoughts. He slowly works his way back down the staircase and stops a few stairs from the bottom, facing the front door, and cocoons himself in the blanket, resting his aching head against the adjacent bannister. He waits with heavy eyes for someone, anyone, to return, unsure of who will come through the door first.

Stiles has no way to tell how long he waits. Darkness has fallen on another day. He realizes that they now only have two days until the new moon.

It feels like an eternity before he hears someone approaching the house. The door is kicked open by a heavy foot.

Derek.

He is soaked to the bone, water dripping from his skin and clothes as he stands in the doorway. His normally spiky hair is flattened against his head, water still pouring down his face, dripping from his chin. His arms and neck are scratched from the wilderness but he’s quickly healing. His clothes are drenched and torn as they cling to his body. He’s carrying tarps under both of his arms, pooled with water. He drops them at his feet as he makes eye contact with Stiles who is completely devoid of emotion.

Derek enters the house leaving wet footprints as he walks slowly towards Stiles. He sits down beside him on the stairs and wraps his arms around him, pulling his weight off of the railing and against his shoulder. They sit in each other’s silence as the sound of rain continues outside through the open door.

Stiles realizes now that it’s them against the world. There’s no pack left. It’s Stiles and Derek.

“I know what you’re doing,” Stiles mutters, his head still resting against a very wet Derek.

Derek looks down at the top of Stiles head with a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles smiles warmly to himself as he feels the comfort of Derek’s words vibrating through his body and against his head. “The tarps.”

“What about them?”

“You’re taking them off of the roof.”

“I’m protecting what’s important to me.”

Stiles finally pulls his head off Derek. “But your house…”

“Priorities change, Stiles.”

“Yeah yeah...” he answers softly, drifting in and out of consciousness.

A few minutes pass before Stiles stirs again. “Are they…” he starts.

“They’ll be okay,” Derek answers before Stiles can finish his thought. “We’ll need to stay here for the night and leave in the morning.”

“And go where? We can’t run from this forever.”

“I don’t know, Stiles. I need to think about it. And you need to rest.” He sounds frustrated.

“But I am resting,” he smiles, nuzzling his face against Derek’s shoulder like a cat.

“Come on,” Derek says as he pats Stiles' leg before standing up to close the door, sliding a nearby furniture trunk in front of it for security. Stiles slowly rises to his feet but isn’t sure where to go. Derek appears behind him and slowly guides him by his shoulders back towards the sofa where he originally woke up and forces him to lie back down. “Stay here. I need to get out of these wet clothes.”

Stiles watches, eyes half closed, as Derek strips his shirt off, throwing it into an empty box before leaving the room. He returns a few minutes later in a pair of sweatpants, tight fitted tank top, towel hanging over his head and neck, his hair still damp from the rain.

He takes a seat on the floor in front of the sofa, resting against it.

“But…” Stiles protests, rolling on to his side towards Derek.

“I’ll be fine,” he grunts back, resting his head back in the nook formed by the curl of Stiles body.

Stiles reaches out with his hand, gently massaging and rubbing Derek’s hair with the towel. Derek tilts his head and looks over at him. “It’s still wet,” Stiles mumbles as he mindless towel dries Derek’s hair.

Derek lets out an exhausted but contented sigh as he rests his head back down against the sofa, Stiles’ hand still playing with his hair as they both drift off to sleep.

///

Stiles wakes gently to the chirps of birds and the sound of rain hitting the window. It’s barely light out and he’s alone again. The towel from Derek’s hair is firmly gripped in his hand, still slightly damp. He brings it up to his face and inhales Derek’s scent, bringing him a sense of comfort even though Derek wasn’t there with him.

Still dressed the same as last night, Derek tiptoes stealthily back into the room but stops once he realizes Stiles is awake. Derek responds with a forced smile upon his face but they both know there isn’t much to smile about at the moment. He sits down on the sofa in the same place he rested his head last night, Stiles now curled around his body.

“How are you feeling?” asks Derek, looking down at him.

“About the same… I forget what a good night of sleep feels like,” Stiles yawns, propping his chin up.

Derek reaches out and ruffles Stiles morning hair. “It’ll be better once this is over.”

“Aren’t you scared?” he asks.

“Terrified. I’ve lost my entire pack.”

“Then how do you sleep at night?”

“Who says I do?”

Stiles' mouth tightens as he rests his head back down. “Sorry. I just thought…”

“I told you to stop apologizing, Stiles,” Derek sighs as he rises to his feet, pacing around as he thinks. “We should get going. The cockatrice is gone for the time being but it could be back soon. We should get out of here while we still can.”

“If not here, then where?” Stiles asks.

“Away from here. Hopefully to Deaton to get answers.”

“He hasn’t been any help so far.”

“He’s the only one who has knowledge outside of the bestiary. We need to know why we were wrong about the water and what it actually means.”

“And who knows if he’s still alright…” Stiles trails off. Derek gives him a dejected look and sits back down at the end of the sofa by his feet. “Sorry. I’m just having a hard time being optimistic as everyone I care about is being turned to stone. Everything we’ve tried has been a failure.”

Derek huffs and looks over at Stiles. “What was the last thing Lydia said before she turned to stone?” he questions.

Stiles thinks for a minute before looking back at Derek. “That we always find a way…”

“And Scott?” he questions again.

“That he believes in me…”

“I believe in you too,” he smiles at Stiles. “Don’t let their sacrifice be in vain.”

Stiles sighs. “You’re right. I’ll do my best,” he slightly smiles. 

“That’s all I ask of you, Stiles,” Derek reassuringly pats his thigh. “To the clinic?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “Let’s go.”

///

Stiles’ Jeep is blocked in by Allison’s car, Derek once again being the one who needs to drive with Stiles playing copilot.

“What else could a sparkling surface mean?” Stiles asks as they pull away from the Hale House.

“If I knew, I would have done it by now. Water seemed like the obvious choice based on what Scott and Allison said and our past observations…” Derek trails off, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Maybe we aren’t thinking about it correctly.”

“That’s why I’m hoping Deaton has the answers we need.”

“Uh, Derek?” Stiles asks. Derek furrows his brow looking over at Stiles. “Isn’t it a bit strange that we are _literally_ the only car on the road?”

“What?” Derek looks around confused.

“We haven’t passed a single vehicle since we left.”

Derek pulls up to a stoplight and scans the intersection in all directions. Stiles is right. There’s nobody else on the roads with them. “But how?”

“Are we… Are we the only two people left in Beacon Hills?” Stiles asks in disbelief sitting up in his seat, looking around.

“I...I don’t know.”

“Is there any point in going to find Deaton if it’s just…” Stiles suddenly realizes something. “My dad! Derek, where’s my dad?” 

Derek can sense Stiles’ heart rate skyrocket as his voice trembles with anxiety. Derek throws the car into park, still sitting at the intersection with the green light now in their favor. He grabs Stiles hands and looks at him intensely, his heart pounding in his throat. “Stiles, calm down. We don’t know for sure that it’s only us.”

“But…”

“Take a moment and breathe with me, okay?” They inhale and exhale in unison, the dull hum of the idling Camaro and the windshield wipers now the dominant sounds as Stiles relaxes. “Better?”

“I think so…” he mutters.

“We’ve only been in a small part of town. There may be other survivors. And your phone is broken so it’s not like he has any way to get in contact with you. We’ll see what Deaton offers up in terms of advice.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Stiles sighs, squeezing Derek’s hands.

Derek puts the car back into drive as they make their way around the desolate city with no other signs of human life. Derek sighs but doesn’t raise the point to Stiles, although he’s sure he’s already aware of it.

As they pull up to the animal clinic, the lights are off and it’s dark inside.

“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home…” Stiles stays as he slowly steps out of the car.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Deaton is in the dark intentionally. It wouldn’t draw any attention.”

Stiles tries the door. “Locked.”

Derek pulls his jacket off, wraps it around his fist, and punches out the glass.

“Or not…” Stiles smirks.

Derek reaches in and unbolts the lock from the inside allowing him and Stiles to enter the building. They sneak through the dark confines of the clinic, looking for any signs of Deaton. They come up empty handed.

“I think he skipped town,” Stiles comments as he seats himself on the medical table in the lab.

“He may be the smartest man around then,” Derek replies. ”Rather who _was_ around.”

“So, now what do we do?” he sighs. “We don’t have the bestiary and our only other source of knowledge could be anywhere.”

“Let me see if he has any notes in his office,” he suggests as he vanishes back into the depths of the clinic.

Stiles reclines back on the table, closing his eyes. Any rest he can get he’ll gladly take.

///

Stiles wakes up to gentle rocking from Derek standing over him by the medical table. “This is not a good place to sleep,” Stiles groans, cracking his neck as he stretches out.

“I should have woken you up sooner.”

“Sooner? How long was I asleep for this time?”

“A couple of hours. It’s just after noon now.”

“You let me sleep for two hours on a hard metal table?!”

“You needed the rest.”

Stiles sighs and thanks Derek, still not feeling any better rested than before. “Did you find out anything?”

“Nothing.”

“So…?” Stiles shrugs with his arms shaking his head. “Now what?”

Derek folds his arms across his chest and thinks, not saying anything. Stiles watches him intently as he can see Derek playing through scenarios in his mind. He wants to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Stiles knows how hopeless he feels in this situation and is craving comfort. Derek surely must feel the same. Even if he doesn’t say it with his voice, his body language is speaking loud and clear.

It isn’t until Derek’s eyes go wide that Stiles speaks up again.

“Derek?”

“Move.”

“Move?” Stiles questions his decision. “What kind of idea is that? And go where exactly?”

“STILES, MOVE! NOW!” Derek roars alarmingly as he grabs Stiles around the waist, throwing him over his shoulder, carrying him out of the medical lab just in time as the walls come crashing inwards.

“What the hell?!” Stiles yells looking up from his awkward position in Derek’s arms, flailing to try and see what’s going on behind them.

“STAY STILL, STILES!” Derek screams back at him as they emerge from the dusty building, dropping Stiles back on his feet. Derek jumps over the hood of his car and rips open the door of the driver’s seat. “Get in! Let’s go let’s go!” he shouts.

Stiles doesn’t question his motives and dives into the car as Derek burns rubber away from the clinic. He cranes his neck out the car window to see the wings of the cockatrice ascend from the rubble of the clinic. “Holy shit, Derek. Drive! DRIVE!”

“I am!!” Derek shouts as he revs the engine, tires spinning smoke as he tears down the vacant streets of Beacon Hills. “Where is it?!” he demands information.

“Airborne! I lost sight of it in the rain!” he answers back in a panic, looking out as many windows as possible from his seat. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know! I’m just driving as far away as possible!”

“That’s not going to work forever. We need a plan!”

Derek whips around the corner, snaking his way through town, trying to escape the pursuing cockatrice in any way possible. “It’s hunting us. It must have followed us through town and tracked us down in the clinic.”

“What are we going to do?” Stiles asks as he pulls his rain-soaked head back in the car.

Derek doesn’t answer.

“We need a plan!” Stiles repeats in panic.

“I don’t know, Stiles!”

“LOOK OUT!” Stiles yells as the cockatrice slams a hard landing in the middle of the intersection in front of them.

Derek slams on the brakes of his car, sending it skidding sideways towards the back of the cockatrice, stopping just short of hitting it.

They watch in horror as it slowly turns around to face them, preparing to seal their fate in stone. Suddenly, a police car comes speeding through the intersection, lights flashing and sirens blaring, slamming directly into the side of the cockatrice, hurling it fifty feet away, crashing into parked cars. Airbags deploy as the occupant lurches forward in an abrupt halt.

“Dad!” Stiles realizes as he ejects himself from the car as fast as humanly possible. 

“Stiles! Stiles, wait!” Derek reaches out for him across the center console but he’s just out of reach. “FUCK!” he yells as he scrambles to get out of the car and catch up with Stiles.

“Dad! Dad, are you okay?” Stiles asks as he struggles to open the crumbled door of the cruiser.

“Did I get it?” his dad chuckles, blood trickling out of an open wound in his forehead.

“Stiles, get back!” Derek yells, pulling him away from his ailing dad.

“No! We have to help my dad!” he yells back, wiping the rain off of his face, desperate to get closer to his father.

“Let me handle this. Go wait in the car. It’s not safe out here,” Derek pleads. “Please, I need you to stay safe. I’ll take care of your dad.”

“But…”

“Stiles, please,” Derek practically begs, putting himself between Stiles and the wrecked car, eyes softer than Stiles has ever seen them before. “Just listen to me,” he cups Stiles’ chin. “Please.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything but storms off in a huff to sulk in Derek’s car.

“He’s a good kid, Derek,” the sheriff half smiles while wincing through the pain.

“I know. He means well.” Derek unleashes his claws as he pries at the door, slowly peeling it back.

“Those would come in handy on the force,” the sheriff jokes as Derek grunts while hauling on the door with all of his strength, putting his foot against the car for further leverage. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two and I’m not going to ask you now but you had better protect him if anything happens to me. Or else,” he threatens lightheartedly. 

Derek pauses briefly to acknowledge the sincerity in the sheriff’s voice. “Yes, sir. I will.”

“Good. So, what was that thing? Is that why the whole town is in stone?”

“Yeah. Some mythological creature that can turn people to stone with eye contact so don’t look directly at its face,” Derek roars one last time as he rips the door open, letting the sheriff free. “We thought we were the only two left in town.”

Derek props the sheriff up on his shoulder, gently removing him from the wreckage.

“And here I thought I was the only person left. I’ve been hiding across town and saw your car zoom by so I followed. I haven’t been able to reach anyo- Ow!” he cries out in pain as Derek settles him slowly to the ground, leaning against the car.

“Where are you hurt?” Derek asks, scanning over his body for wounds.

“Ah… My arm,” he groans, cradling it close to his body.

“Give me your hand,” he orders as the sheriff slowly extends his hand against Derek’s. Black veins start pulsing down the sheriff’s forearm and transferring to Derek’s as the pain alleviates from the wounded police officer.

“See? Now that would also come in handy on the force!” he jokes again. Derek smirks in response as he again positions himself under the sheriff’s arm and slowly helps him to his feet. “Thanks,” he smiles.

“Hey guys?!” Stiles calls out from just outside the Camaro.

“Yeah?” Derek yells back, still bracing Stiles’ dad.

“It’s gone!”

“What do you mean it’s gone?!”

“It’s not there! It must have taken off when we weren’t paying attention to it!”

“Let’s get out of here!” Derek orders as he slowly works his way towards his car, still supporting the sheriff.

Stiles eyes go wide as he hears the flapping wings of the cockatrice descending from the rainy clouds above. “WATCH OUT!” he screams as it swoops above Derek and his dad. It’s tail drops low enough, swatting Derek backwards, throwing him clear though the open door of the police car, smashing into the passenger door, and out the other side, tumbling across the road before his limp body skids to a halt on the asphalt.

His dad drops to the ground, still weak and woozy from the accident. “Dad! Get up!” Stiles yells as he crawls low against the wet pavement towards his father. “Come on, dad. Move it!” he shouts as he tries to help prop his dad under his shoulder but he doesn’t have the same strength Derek does.

“Get down!” his dad barks orders, pushing Stiles to the ground face first and landing back to back on top of him. He unholsters his pistol, firing a full clip of ammo into the diving cockatrice.

Stiles' hands clamp over his ears, high pitched tinnitus ringing out from the near-range gunshots from his dad’s gun. He feels the warm spray of blood fall on the back of his head, running through his messy hair, seeing it drip off his face onto the wet ground below. Stiles pushes up on his scraped hands and knees, looking to the sky, blood pouring from the side of the cockatrice as it vanishes in the clouds above, squawking loudly in pain, the sound still muffled by Stiles’ damaged ears.

It takes a few seconds but he shakes his head to clear the noise as he tries to crawl out from under his dad. “Holy shit, dad! You got it! I think it’ll be back though. We gotta move and quick!”

No response.

“Dad?” 

Stiles recoils in horror as he turns his neck to see the petrified body of his dad, frozen above him, pinning him against the ground.

“Dad!” Stiles screams through the driving rain, falling on deaf ears. 

He can feel arms pulling him out from underneath his dad as he screams and cries, panic starting to set in. His eyes clear long enough to focus on Derek’s stern face staring back at him.

“Stiles, we gotta go,” Derek calmly orders, holding distance between Stiles and his dad, seemingly unharmed from being tossed aside like a playtoy. Or at least hiding the pain for the sake of Stiles.

“What? No!” Stiles answers back in disbelief. “Derek, I’m not leaving him!” he cries, tears welling up in his eyes, clawing at the air towards his dad. “I can’t. I can’t lose him too…”

“Stiles! Be realistic about this! He’s already gone. You know it will be after us once it recovers from the bullet wounds.”

“Just leave me here.” Stiles crosses his legs and sits back down on the wet ground, rain still falling while he ignores Derek reasoning with him.

Derek grabs Stiles arm and starts pulling him to his feet. “Stiles.”

“NO!” Stiles yells as he easily yanks his arm free.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. We can’t do anything for him now. He needs you alive. I...” Derek pauses. “I need you alive.”

Stiles doesn’t answer as he stares blankly at the statue of his father.

Derek crouches down beside Stiles and puts his hand on his shoulder, looking at him directly in the eyes, rain still soaking both of them to the bone. “Please, Stiles,” he pleads.

Stiles reaches up and puts his hand on top of Derek’s but still doesn’t move, doesn’t make eye contact.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“For what?” Stiles begrudgingly spits, his eyes focused solely on his dad.

In one sweep, Derek pulls Stiles hand up, gets him to his feet, wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, and throws him over the back of his neck in a fireman carry and runs towards his car.

“Derek! Put. Me. Down.” he shrieks, furiously kicking and punching at Derek’s sides. “DEREK! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD! DEREK. FUCK YOU.”

Derek ignores him as he keeps moving, taking the brunt of Stiles’ attacks and he continues spitting a tirade of cursing and insults.

“NO! Derek, please! Just fucking leave me. I don’t want to go,” he cries. “I want to stay here. Please! Just put me down! I can’t lose my dad...I...can’t. Please, Derek. You don’t understand. He’s all I have. Derek”

“You…” Derek pauses. “You have me...”

Stiles gasps.

“...And you’re all I have,” Derek finishes.

Stiles starts sobbing as Derek maneuvers him towards the open door of the Camaro. He throws Stiles in the passenger seat, clicking the child safety lock on the door, and slamming it shut before Stiles has a chance to react. Stiles pulls frantically on the handle before he crawls towards the center console and into the driver’s seat as Derek opens the door and sits down, blocking Stiles’ exit.

“Derek,” Stiles manages to weakly squeak out, his hair, face, and clothes covered in the blood of the cockatrice. “Derek, don’t do this. Please. Don’t.”

They’re both soaking wet, dripping all over Derek’s car. Stiles is on his hands and knees leaning over Derek, pleading at him with his eyes. Derek is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tight, trying his best to ignore Stiles’ cries for help. He finally relents and looks in Stiles’ eyes. “You know what I’m doing is what’s best for us. Your dad asked me to protect you. That’s not how you see it but that’s what I’m doing.”

Stiles' shoulders tremble as he realizes he can’t win this argument. Derek reaches up and cups his hand along Stiles’ jaw. Stiles closes his eyes and leans into it, calming his breathing in Derek’s caress. “Everything will be okay,” Derek reaffirms with him, his thumb gently stroking his cheek.

Stiles slides out of Derek’s hand and slumps back down into the passenger seat. He’s disheveled, covered in rain and blood, hands scraped up, eyes bloodshot and despondent. “I feel gross,” he mutters, feeling disgusted in his rain and blood soaked outfit. “My place… please…”

Derek reaches over Stiles and puts his seatbelt on for him. “We can figure out what we’re going to do next. We’ll go to your house and come back for your dad tomorrow…”

Stiles silently rests his head against the side of the door frame as Derek starts to drive through Beacon Hills.

///

Derek quietly pulls up to the Stilinski house and reverses into the driveway, stopping the wipers and turning off the engine as they sit in silence, Stiles seemingly asleep. The sun will be setting soon but there isn’t anyone left to enforce the curfew. Derek makes the first move and gets out of the car, walking around it to let Stiles out of his child-protected door. As Derek grabs the handle, Stiles bolts over the center console and out the driver’s side door. Derek doesn’t even make an attempt to catch or chase Stiles.

Stiles quickly gets into the safety of his house, closing the front door behind him, leaving Derek outside. He leans back against the door and collapses to the floor, struggling to breathe. He hears the handle on the door jiggle behind him and recoils away from it, finding himself at the base of the staircase, grasping at his shirt, short of breath. He painstakingly crawls up the stairs, past his bedroom, into the bathroom, sitting uncomfortably on the floor. He musters up enough motivation to turn the shower on, resting up against the edge tub. 

Images of his father flash in front of his eyes as he grabs at the oversized shirt given to him last night by Derek. He feels like he’s being choked by the collar as he rips the blood stained shirt off over his head and throws it across the room. It bounces off the wall, leaving a splash of damp red liquid and it falls to the floor with a soft, squishing sound.

His breathing still labored, Stiles waves his hand under the water to make sure the temperature is comfortable. He’s still dressed from the waist down but rolls himself over the edge of the tub, under the cleansing waters of the shower. He sits on the floor of the bathtub, letting the dried blood remnants of the cockatrice wash off his skin, drip from his hair, watching it swirl down the drain.

He pulls his knees in close to his chest, dropping his head, closing his eyes, sitting motionless under the falling water. He’s trying his best to not feel overwhelmed but the task at hand seems daunting and he becomes lost in his own thoughts. Everyone he holds dear to him was gone: the pack, his best friend, his father.

But he still had Derek. 

Derek has been by his side through all of this. Stiles needed Derek just as much as Derek needed Stiles.

Stiles soon realizes the water from the shower was no longer falling on him. He opens his eyes and slightly raises his head to see a pair of clothed feet in the shower with him. Derek’s standing in front of the shower head, his broad shoulders blocking the stream of water as he stares down at Stiles.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Stiles doesn’t answer, dropping his head back down.

Derek crouches down in the shower to be at eye level with him, water still spraying across his back. “You don’t want to be in here,” Derek calmly says.

Stiles hugs his legs tighter, his eyes resting just above his forearms as he stares blankly at Derek, completely despondent,

“You’re going to get sick if you don’t get out of these wet clothes,” Derek continues, tugging lightly on the leg of Stiles’ pants. “We’ll get you a change of clothes. Maybe some food? I’ll even make you dinner?”

Stiles eyes crinkle slightly. Derek knows he’s hiding a smile behind his arms. “That’s more like it,” Derek smiles. “Come on. Are you okay to stand up?”

Stiles barely shakes his head.

“Let me help you,” he offers with an extended hand.

Stiles drops his arms limply to his sides and extends his legs underneath Derek.

“You ready?” Derek checks with Stiles before making his move.

He nods slightly before Derek moves closer, sliding his hands under Stiles’ arms. “Easy… Up we go,” Derek talks through the motions as he carefully pulls Stiles upright in the slippery bathtub. 

Stiles feet slip out from under him but Derek reaches around his back and catches him before he falls, supporting them both with his palm firm against the tiled wall. “Hey hey hey…” Derek pauses as Stiles has panic in his eyes, Derek’s shirt gripped tight between his fingers. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Stiles.”

Derek feels Stiles’ body relax in his arm as the look of dread washes away from his face and is replaced with overwhelming relief as he gathers his footing. He wraps his arms around Derek and pulls him in tight, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s arm reaches up Stiles’ bare back and gently rubs his neck. “I’ve got you…” They stand still in each other’s embrace under the edge of the shower’s spray, Stiles holding on to Derek as close and tight as possible, his heartbeat slowly calming down. “I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll make things right.”

Stiles pulls his head back from Derek’s shoulder, looking intensely into Derek’s worried eyes. He’s just as scared as Stiles is but won’t say it. It’s written all over his face.

“Let’s get you out of this tub. Just step out carefully,” Derek instructs as he guides Stiles out of the shower. Once Stiles is seated on the edge of the tub, Derek goes back under the water and turns off the shower.

“Here,” Stiles finally says, handing Derek a towel.

Derek looks himself up and down, his clothes clinging tight to his body. “Going to need more than a towel I think.”

“We can put your clothes in the laundry,” Stiles suggests with no inflection in his voice. “You can borrow some of my clothes but they probably won’t fit.”

“I’ll make do.” Derek slowly works his soaking wet t-shirt off his body, wringing it out of excess water.

Stiles remains sitting on the side of the bathtub, towel hanging around his neck, lightly rubbing his hair as he watches the muscles of Derek’s arms and back off of the bathroom mirror. He looks back at Stiles and the mirror, catching his eyes.

“Absolutely drenched,” Derek comments as he whips his shirt back and forth, flinging water around as he finally gets out of the bathtub.

Stiles winces as the towel keeps getting stuck running it through his hair. He pulls it back to find the towel dark red, small chunks of matted blood clinging to the fabric and his hair. “I can’t…” his heart rate starts to accelerate again, immediately drawing Derek’s attention.

Derek squats down in front of Stiles, his hands gently rubbing Stiles’ soaked thighs. “What’s wrong, Stiles? Talk to me?”

“My hair… It’s… it’s full of blood…”

Derek gently grasps at the towel, pulling it off Stiles’ head as he inspects his messy hair. “What do you wa-”

Stiles doesn’t even let Derek finish before he’s made up his mind. “Off. Shave it all off,” he points to the clippers on the messy bathroom counter.

“Stiles, are you sure?”

“Yes. Please,” he begs. “There should be a guard. Two or three or four. I don’t care which. Just do it. All of it”

Derek takes a minute as he fumbles through the various sized guards before finding a three, attaching it to the set of clippers in his hand. “There’s no turning b-”

“Do it or I’ll do it myself, Derek. Please,” he says emotionlessly. “It’s only hair. It’ll...it’ll grow back.”

Derek takes a deep breath before standing between Stiles legs. “Here goes.”

He starts at the front of Stiles’ head, pushing back slowly with the shaver. Stiles shudders quietly as he watches clumps of hair and blood fall to his feet. He bites at his lip with each new push from Derek combing through his scalp, freeing him of the cockatrice blood entrapped on his head. Derek is gentle as he tilts Stiles’ head, ensuring an even and clean cut from all angles. Derek turns the hair clippers off as silence falls over the bathroom. 

It’s over in only a matter of minutes before Stiles shakes the remnants of his haircut off his feet. Stiles pushes himself up off the edge of the bathtub, running his hands through his newly buzzed hair. “Heh…” he chuckles softly to himself as he runs his hands back and forth across his head, inspecting himself in the mirror. “I haven’t cut my hair like this in years,” he says, brushing more hair from his bare shoulders and chest. He turns around, leaning back on the counter to face Derek. “Thanks,” he finally forces himself to smile.

Derek nods as he places a hand on top of Stiles’ head, rubbing his new found freedom. “Think you could get us both some dry clothes?”

Stiles nods. He leads Derek to his bedroom where he grabs some clothes out of drawers. “These are a size too big but they still fit me...” he says, handing Derek a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

Derek looks between the two items of clothing he was now holding waiting for more.

“What?” Stiles looks at him confused.

“I’m soaked to the bone. I’m going to need more clothes unless you want me going commando in your pants,” he says bluntly.

“O...oh…” Stiles can feel himself becoming flushed in front of a very shirtless and very wet Derek. “Ummmmm…” his voice cracks. He pulls open another drawer and rifles through his underwear, hiding his face behind a pair of black boxer briefs as he hands them to Derek with both hands.

Derek inspects the tag, probably getting a full whiff of Eau de Stiles’ underwear stash but he doesn’t react. “They’re going to be snug but it’ll have to do,” as he walks back to the bathroom to get changed. 

Stiles starts slowly removing his wet clothing, standing in a small puddle of water as it gets squeezed out of his pants and boxers. He drops them to the floor in a soggy thud as he wraps the towel around his body, trying desperately to be warm and dry. He ties it off at his waist as he goes back to his underwear drawer for himself this time. He grabs a matching pair of black boxer briefs, hanging his towel off his shoulders, and slides his underwear onto his legs. He barely gets them past his butt before Derek re-enters the room, carrying the t-shirt Stiles just gave him.

“At least everything fits you,” he snarks as Stiles stands before him in little more than a towel and underwear. Derek is walking a bit funny, the tight sweatpants hugging every curve of his legs while his ankles are awkwardly bare, the sweatpants sitting high on his calves. Stiles can’t help but stare. “No fit,” Derek jokes as he tugs on the collar of the t-shirt he holds in his hands.

He smirks at how ridiculous, but good, Derek looks in his clothes. “I should hope so. They are mine after all and we are nowhere near the same size,” he says before going back into his drawer. “Maybe this will?” he suggests, passing Derek a larger tank top.

Derek slides it over his head as Stiles quickly puts on his pajama pants. “Well, it’s better than the t-shirt,” he sighs, showing off a two inch strip of skin between the bottom of the tank top and the top of the sweats, his pronounced hip muscles casting shadows in the dull lighting. 

“It’s a good look. I think midriffs and crop tops are in this year.”

“I have a feeling Lydia will say otherwise,” Derek grins. “My wet clothes are in the bathroom still. Are you okay to take care of them while I try to make us some food?”

“Yeah. I think I can handle it.”

“Just holler for me if you need any help. We should try and keep it quiet, lights off, curtains closed not to draw any unwanted attention.”

“Okay…” Stiles pauses as Derek leaves the room. “And Derek?”

Derek’s hand catches on the door frame of Stiles’ room as he pulls himself back into Stiles’ line of sight. 

“Th...thanks.”

“For what?”

“Just about everything? If you weren’t there for me, I don’t know where I’d be. Through all of this. You’re a good leader. A good alpha. A good friend.”

“I’m nothing without my pack,” Derek smiles humbly as he awkwardly accepts the compliment before walking downstairs.

Stiles sighs as he slides a clean, dry t-shirt on, which has no issues fitting him, before he gathers up his and Derek’s clothes and makes his way to the laundry room. He can still see heavy bloodstains on the clothes Derek gave to him last night. Stiles finds it amusing that he spent the day wearing Derek’s old clothes that were too big for him and now Derek was wearing Stiles’ clothes that were entirely too small for him, leaving Derek likely feeling awkward and exposed.

Stiles starts the washing machine as the aroma of the detergent is overpowered by whatever Derek has started cooking in the kitchen. He works his way around the house ensuring all the doors are locked, curtains are drawn, minimal lights on, any evidence of life wasn’t visible to the outside world, which, as far as Stiles could tell, consisted only of the cockatrice within Beacon Hills.

Derek looks up at him as he enters the kitchen, spatula in hand.

“Smells good,” Stiles comments as he lifts himself on to the kitchen counter beside the stove.

“Told you I could cook,” Derek winks as he stirs an assortment of vegetables and meat.

“I didn’t doubt you, but you should cook for the pack more often if it’s always going to smell this awesome. Or maybe even my dad. Improve his eating habits.

“It’s hard to cook enough food for six people and make something that everybody will like. It’s better in smaller numbers,” he answers, still paying attention to the wok in front of him.

“So, what are you making?” Stiles asks, leaning over the stove inquisitively. 

“Just a simple stir fry. The ingredients were already in the fridge so I just threw it all together. It should be ready in a moment.”

Derek stirs silently while Stiles observes, the low sizzling and occasional quiet clanging of wood on metal breaking the monotonous silence of the room. “I hate to be the one to bring this up…” Stiles pauses as Derek looks at him expectantly. “But… If we don’t defeat it by sundown tomorrow…” he trails off, awkwardly shuffling his feet together as they dangle from the counter.

“I wish I knew, Stiles. If we had the answers, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Stiles sighs as he leans his shoulders back against the cabinets. “We don’t have the bestiary or anything that can help us.”

“We do have this,” Derek says as he taps Stiles’ shaved head

“A fresh haircut?” Stiles grins.

“Fucking cheeky,” he sternly points a wooden spoon at Stiles’ face. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s done a lot of good so far,” he groans sarcastically. The nearby rice cooker beeps. Stiles tends to it while grabbing some cutlery and bowls. “I mean…” he slumps his shoulders. “I just need to figure out what the bestiary meant by ‘sparkling surface’ in the next 24 hours, right? No pressure.”

“Try not to stress yourself out over it. It’s probably all this over thinking and not sleeping that’s fogging up your brain.” Stiles stares dejectedly at the floor as Derek turns off the stove top, carrying the wok over to Stiles. “We’ll eat and make sure you get a full night of rest, okay? You need to be well fed to be able to think properly. We’re in this together. We’ll figure it out.”

“I hope you’re right,” he replies, forcing a smile to his face.

Derek dishes up the food and follows Stiles to the kitchen table, eagerly awaiting his reaction to his cooking.

Stiles chews as Derek awaits with bated breath for his verdict. “Okay…” he starts with his mouth full. “If you won’t cook for the whole pack, I am coming over to visit you alone so you can cook just for me.”

“You like it?”

“Like it? This is fantastic! I wish my dad would cook like this. I can only eat those curly fries so many times before getting sick of them.”

“Glad to hear it,” Derek grins as he picks up his chopsticks and dives into his food.

///

“That was delicious,” Stiles moans contently as he flops lazily down on the couch. “Is this what you eat to stay so fit?”

“That and the werewolf genes help.” Derek sits down on the La-Z-Boy adjacent to the couch, rubbing his stomach.

The washing machine signals it’s finished with their clothes, but neither Stiles nor Derek immediately move from their place. “I should probably get everything into the dryer so you can at least wear some clothes that fit you properly,” he sighs, reluctantly getting up off the couch.

“I thought midriffs were in this year?” Derek makes a call back to Stiles’ joke from earlier.

“You ass. You’re making me feel self conscious sitting here with your abs hanging out,” Stiles genuinely laughs for what feels like the first time in days, punching Derek in the arm as he heads back upstairs to the laundry room. He’s relieved to see the bloodstains have been removed from the clothes Derek loaned him as he quietly moves everything into the dryer. It feels oddly domestic.

He goes to the linen closet to grab a pillow and blanket for Derek to sleep with as he runs into him ascending the stairs. “Thought I’d see if you needed any help.”

“Everything is in the dryer now. I grabbed you some sleeping supplies for wherever you end up tonight,” he hugs a blanket and pillow in his arms, Derek eying them warily.

“I’m good with the floor,” he answers, gesturing towards Stiles’ room.

“But you slept on the floor last night!” Stiles protests.

“I know. I like it sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of you sleeping on the floor again. Take this stuff and sleep on the couch downstairs,” he says, pushing the pillow and blanket at Derek. “It’s much softer than the floor. I’ve passed on the couch many times. Your back will thank you in the morning.”

“You think with the cockatrice loose in town I’m going to let us sleep in separate rooms?” Derek scoffs. “Fat chance.”

“Okay. I’ll take the floor in my room, you take the bed,” Stiles offers up an alternative.

“No way. You need more sleep than I do and you won’t get a good night of sleep on the floor. And it’s your bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor!”

“Same,” Derek snorts in protest.

At this point, Stiles is just as stubborn and frustrated as Derek is. “Fine! We’ll just share my bed.”

Immediate regret.

“Uh, I mean, if that’s okay with you. I tend to flail in my sleep sometimes. Don’t snore as far as I know. But it’s a small bed. So,” he gestures and shrugs trying to stop himself from babbling.

Derek shrugs back. “Suit yourself,” he says, pushing by Stiles and looking at his bed. “I get the wall side though,” he grins.

“Yeah, you’re perfectly okay with this, aren’t you?” Stiles rolls his eyes as he chucks the spare pillow at Derek’s back. Derek ignores it and starts stripping off his two-sizes-too-small tank top. “What are you doing?!” Stiles asks nervously.

“Getting ready for bed? I’ll overheat otherwise. You know how warm werewolves generally are,” he answers, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the pants he’s wearing, dropping them to his ankles, leaving his borrowed underwear still on, much to Stiles’ relief. “What? I actually sleep naked at home.”

“Need to brush my teeth!” Stiles quickly does an about-face turn on his heels and runs to the bathroom. He scrubs his teeth probably a little too aggressively as he flips through the medicine cabinet for an extra toothbrush for Derek. He’s still in a state of disbelief over just about everything. They have less than 24 hours to resolve everything or they’ll lose everyone forever. And he’s about to share a bed with a nearly naked Derek Hale.

He shuffles back to his room to find Derek already under the sheet, on his side facing the wall, tank top and sweatpants at the foot of the bed. “I left a toothbrush on the counter for you,” Stiles says as he sits on the edge of his side of the bed, not quite ready to face the situation he’s awkwardly gotten himself into.

Derek stirs slightly. “Thanks,” he mutters as he flings the sheet back and crawls out of bed in just Stiles’ boxer briefs.

At least he wasn’t naked. 

Stiles slides under the covers and immediately realizes just how warm the bed is. Derek wasn’t kidding. He’d only been in Stiles’ bed for a few minutes by himself and Stiles was already sweating in his pajamas. He clicks his tongue and sighs deeply, waffling over the decision he’s faced with: overheat or sleep almost naked next to an almost naked Derek.

When in Rome...

Derek returns from brushing his teeth and doesn’t even bat an eye at the second pile of clothes on the floor beside the bed and Stiles burying himself in the sheet. He crawls on top from the end of the bed and soon joins Stiles under the covers, turning on to his side again, facing the wall. Stiles, still laying on his back, is wide awake staring up at the dark ceiling, 

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we going to do?”

Derek lets out an audible sigh, being asked the same question ad nauseum and still not having an answer. “Hope for an epiphany?”

“That doesn’t sound very confident.”

“I’m exhausted and all out of ideas,” he says to the wall.

“We’re going to lose everyone…”

Derek rolls onto his back and looks over at Stiles. “It’s already happened to me once.” Stiles can see the hurt and anguish written all over Derek’s face. He’s struggling with this just as much as Stiles is.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay, Stiles. Try to get a good night of sleep. In the morning, we need to come up with something. Anything.”

“Okay… Night, Derek.”

“Night,” he answers back, rolling back over onto his side.

Stiles lay still on the bed for what felt like hours, listless and anxious. His mind raced with thoughts of what would happen if he and Derek can’t save everyone in time. They’d have to leave Beacon Hills, probably forever. If they even survived. Would the cockatrice just continue it’s rampage until someone figured out a way to stop it? Stiles could feel his hands clawing at the sheets as his heartbeat raced. It felt deafening to him so he only wondered how it sounded to Derek, if he was even asleep yet.

“Stiles,” Derek mutters.

Well, that answered Stiles’ question.

“Stiles!” he mutters again, a bit louder.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Derek huffs. “Are you okay?” He asks, rolling over onto his back again.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve just... never shared a bed with anybody other than Scott so this is a bit weird for me.”

“Calm down. There’s no use in over thinking everything.”

“Far too late for that.”

Derek sighs. “Roll over.”

“What?”

“Roll over onto your side,” Derek orders, pointing away from the wall in the dull-lit room.

Stiles rolls onto his left side, facing his room. “Okay, now what?”

Stiles gasps as Derek’s warm arms wrap around his body, one sliding under his head so that he’s resting on the crook of Derek’s arm, the other moving gently over his hip, hand splayed across Stiles’ abdomen . “Der-!” Stiles’ breath is taken away as Derek’s hard chest presses up against his back as he pulls Stiles close to him, his hairy thighs rubbing against the back of Stiles’ legs.

Stiles can feel himself becoming aroused, not that Derek probably couldn’t smell it all over him as soon as he crawled into bed with him. “Derek. What...what are you doing?” he nearly moans between breaths, trying to keep his emotions and hormones under control with little success. 

“Making sure we both get a good night of sleep. I’m surprised the cockatrice didn’t hear how loud your heart was beating.”

“But…”

“Just breathe, Stiles. Breathe. Relax,” Derek whispers in a calming voice, his fingers lightly rubbing Stiles stomach, brushing against the hair below his navel, flirting with the waistband on his boxer-briefs.

Stiles takes a deep breath as he feels the tension leaving his body, comforted in Derek’s arms. “This feels nice…” he sighs, exhaling deeply, warm breath brushing down the veins of Derek’s forearm. He can feel the tension leaving his body, his skin feeling electric and alive under Derek’s soothing finger strokes. 

“Good. Just keep relaxing.” His soft words effortlessly fall out of Derek’s mouth as his warm breath soothes the skin on the back of Stiles’ neck, his forehead buried in the back of Stiles’ buzzed hair. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

Stiles can’t help but push his body against Derek’s, tucking into every nook and curve, to feel as close to Derek as possible, to feel safe, protected. Derek’s werewolf body is abnormally warm as Stiles presses against him. He slows his breathing to line-up with the rise and fall Derek’s rhythm. Whatever Derek was doing was working, even if it put both of them wildly out of their comfort zone.

Derek lets out a contented grunt as Stiles’ accidentally pushes his ass back against his growing arousal. At least Stiles has confirmation that what he was feeling was more than mutual. He intentionally pushes his hips back again, the friction of the fabric between them providing heavily desired stimulation.

“Stiles, I-” Derek starts, cutting himself off as air hisses between his teeth, rutting forward in anticipation of Stiles sliding back again. Stiles interlaces his hand with Derek’s. Derek’s hand freezes, still warmly pressed against Stiles’ abdomen. There’s a moment of silence, a build of nervous tension in the air, sharp exhales as their fingers intertwine. “Are you sure?” he breathes the words onto Stiles’ neck, their fingers dancing together on Stiles’ skin.

Stiles doesn’t verbally answer back as he guides Derek’s hand underneath the fabric of his boxer briefs pulling his own hand free. Stiles lets out a high pitched whine against Derek’s forearm as Derek’s fingers wrap around his cock, gently gripping and stroking from base to tip, as their hips gyrate, Stiles moving in rhythm with Derek’s hand.

Stiles pants breathlessly as their bodies writhe together harmoniously. For the first time in over a week, any semblance of anxiety seemed to melt away in Derek’s soft touch, Stiles’ mind finally able to escape the near constant state of buzzing static that had been keeping him on edge. He can feel Derek breathing needily on the back of his neck, forehead and nose pressed against his warm skin, gently whispering his name between heavy breaths, holding Stiles close and tight, maintaining a steady pace of each pump of his fist.

Stiles’ hand reaches behind him, finding Derek’s clothed hip pressed against his. His hand snakes between their two bodies, fingers tracing over the straining bulge confined by tight underwear. Derek thrusts against Stiles’ fumbling hand, eager for release, trapped by fabric.

Derek pulls his hand free only to shove his underwear down past his ass, freeing his cock for Stiles to stroke before sliding his hand back down Stiles’ boxer briefs to give him the attention he needs. Both men are unable to get any proper words out as they both huff and puff with each motion, both intensely focused on getting each other off.

Derek’s breathing becomes unsteady as he pauses his jerking motion to focus on the surge of releasing pleasure, the rush of fluid as Stiles brings him to climax. He shoots warm come over Stiles’ hand and the back of his underwear as Stiles slows his pace, Derek’s sweaty forehead resting comfortably against Stiles. Derek slides his hand over his own cock, using his own come as lube as he slides his hand back onto Stiles’ erection.

With renewed vigor, Derek pulls Stiles closer, hugging him tight around his chest with his forearm, his other hand relentlessly pumping Stiles’ hard cock, sliding his thumb over the hyper-sensitive head, circling through the precome dripping from Stiles. Derek thrusts his still hard cock into the sticky mess left behind on Stiles’ ass, still turned on and longing to return the favor for Stiles. 

With a loud whimper and tense body, Stiles’ hands grasp tightly onto Derek’s forearm, nails digging into his skin as come sprays from his cock, into his underwear and coating Derek’s fingers. As the bliss gradually fades, he sighs deeply, relaxing against Derek’s body, satisfied and content, Derek still nuzzling from behind as the room falls silent, smelling of sweat and sex.

Stiles and Derek both make the wise decision to remove their boxer briefs, Stiles’ soaked with come from both of their orgasms, and Derek, well, because he prefers to sleep naked anyways and if Stiles is sleeping naked beside him, he may as well join. 

With their underwear discarded, Derek nestles back in behind Stiles, their naked bodies comfortably slotted together. The fact that the grizzled alpha was able to let down his guard and gruff exterior to be a cuddle buddy for a night meant the world to Stiles. No words are exchanged. They both fall asleep with ease.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles squints harshly as the rising sun of the early morning blinds him. He awakens, pleasantly surprised to feel refreshed for a change, finding himself still entangled in the comfort of Derek’s limbs. He can still hear Derek heavily breathing behind him, still asleep. He’s somewhat relieved that it wasn’t just a dream but also hopes this doesn’t create a new awkward situation between them when there are much more pressing matters at hand. He was at complete peace with himself and the current situation in his bed. 

His eyes scan the room in silence, enjoying the protection and security still embracing him. Sunlight falls between the curtains, blowing softly in the light breeze through the cracked open window, scattering beams of light between early morning clouds. A flickering glint out of the corner of Stiles’ eye draws his attention across the room. As light cascades through the window, illuminating soft dust particles in the air, they flicker between him, his filthy bedroom mirror, and the outside world. He watches intently as the harsh reflected light sparkles and shines across his pupils.

“ _The mirror…_ ” Stiles silently thinks to himself as his eyes widen. “ _Reflection!_ ”

“Derek!” Stiles whispers, not wanting to unpleasantly wake him up.

No response.

“Derek!” he whispers louder, pushing his elbow back lightly into Derek’s ribs.

“Hngh,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles jostles Derek again. “Come on, buddy. Wake up. I think I figured it out!”

“Hrmph,” he grumbles again, pulling Stiles in tight against his body, pressing his hips against him, playfully sliding his fingers along Stiles’ treasure trail.

Stiles bites his lip as he feels all of Derek, hard, grinding up his backside. “ _Oh my god...This is not happening again._ ” 

Stiles reluctantly squashes all his urges to not push his ass back against Derek’s enticing pelvic movements, not quite sure how Derek would react to it if he were fully awake. “Derek!” he repeats for a fourth time, much louder, and much more firm with his elbowing.

Derek stirs more this time, loosening his tight grip on Stiles enough so they’re no longer pinned against each other, resting his jaw on the crook of Stiles’ neck. “What?” he grunts, his scruff scratching along Stiles’ pale skin.

“Good morning to you too. Sorry to disturb you from your slumber, but look!”

“What am I looking at?” he groans sleepily, rubbing his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, stubble wearing against his skin as Derek’s eyes adjust to the changing light conditions.

Stiles sits up, finally breaking their embrace, pointing across the room. “The mirror! It’s the fucking mirror!” he excitedly smacks Derek arm. “It’s sparkling in the sunlight. That’s what the bestiary was talking about! It wouldn’t go near Lydia’s pool not because of the water but because it’s flat and reflective! It didn’t care about the reservoir because the storm was stirring up the water. It needs to see it’s reflection!”

Derek bolts upright behind Stiles, bedsheet falling clumsily across his hips, tenting over his arousal, hiding absolutely nothing. “Holy shit. You’re right. You’re right!” he rejoices as he hugs Stiles from behind. “It’s the same as the story of Medusa and the mirrored shield. It will turn to stone by its own reflection!” 

“Exactly!” Stiles jumps out of bed, grabbing the mirror and swinging it around excitedly, completely forgetting the fact that he was naked and aroused, both thanks to Derek.

“Ummmmmmmm…” Derek averts his eyes as Stiles parades around. “You...might want to put some clothes on first,” Derek sheepishly says as Stiles carries the mirror around his room, conveniently censoring himself. 

“Oh my god… Oh my god! Yeah uh sorry…Yup… I’ll be right back...” Stiles carries the mirror in front of himself until he can exit the room, retreating to the safety of the laundry room where his clean clothes await. 

Stiles takes a brief moment, rubbing his temples, redressing and adjusting himself after a night of...whatever you would call that. Stiles re-enters the room, jeans on, t-shirt slung around his neck. “Get out of bed! We only have until sundown today!” he throws a pair of clean underwear at Derek who practically throws himself out of bed after sliding them on.

“Wow that was quick. Are you always this enthusiastic in the morning?” Stiles thinks about his earlier attempts to wake up Derek and the reaction that resulted in.

“This is our chance! We’ll go tarp-up your dad and I’m sure it’ll come to us. Then we can use the mirror to defeat it,” Derek is excited at their new found opportunity.

“Lure it and reflect it back on itself. Seems easy enough,” Stiles says. He watches Derek stretch his arms above his head, still only in his underwear, very pronounced and visible dick-outline, not ashamed of anything, especially after spending the night in bed with him. And jerking each other off. There wasn’t really anything to hide at this point even if it wasn’t discussed. Derek picks through the clean laundry, eventually sliding his jeans and shirt back on.

“Bring this too. Just in case,” Derek suggests, tossing Stiles’ metal bat at him just as Stiles finishes pulling a shirt on over his head.

“Stone it and smash it. I like it!” Stiles grins menacingly, tightening his grip on the bat.

“You were one of those kids who burned things with a magnifying glass for fun when you were growing up, weren’t you?” Derek jokes.

“Is it that obvious?” Stiles chuckles as he and Derek file out of his bedroom.

“You seem awfully upbeat today.”

“I actually feel rested and re-energized for the first time in almost a week.”

There’s a few moments of awkward silence before Derek speaks up, “Well, I’m glad we could both get a good night of rest.”

“Me too,” Stiles smiles softly as they prepare to sneak out to Derek’s car. “You begin to forget what it feels like after that long…” Neither of them talk about the events that happened between them, as if it was all out of sight and out of mind once they left Stiles’ bedroom. It definitely wasn’t out of Stiles’ mind but now wasn’t the time nor the place for this discussion.

They carefully slide the mirror into the trunk with Stiles’ bat and head towards the sheriff’s location, the last place they had seen the cockatrice taking off skyward.

“When we get there, I’ll take care of your father before we do anything else. You stay in the car.”

“But…” Stiles protests.

“There’s no arguing this, Stiles.”

“Fine,” he sulks, crossing his arms.

They drive in silence through the deserted town, Stiles on the lookout for any evidence of the beast stalking them. Derek is behind the wheel, trying to relax and keep his nerves calm by driving with one hand but he’s constantly finding stuff to fiddle with: his aviators, the collar on his jacket, the crease in his jeans, his hair, anything within arm’s reach . Stiles watches him cautiously and wearily out of the corner of his eyes. He wants to reach out and comfort him but isn’t quite sure how Derek would react, especially after last night’s unspoken activities.

Derek’s hand finally settles on the stick shift of the Camaro for more than a few seconds, keeping it in low gear to keep the sound of the vehicle as low as it can be. Stiles holds his breath before reaching out and resting his hand on top of the back of Derek’s. Derek widens the space between his fingers so their hands interlock as they drive together in silence towards their final stand.

Derek pulls up to the intersection where Stiles’ father lay frozen in stone, positioning the car so Stiles can’t see his father directly.

“Stay put. Please,” Derek sternly orders, giving Stiles’ hand a quick squeeze as he exits the car.

Stiles watches quietly from the passenger seat, rotating his position as Derek heads to the trunk of the Camaro, removing the mirror and the bat, resting them up against the rear bumper before he grabs a bundle of tarps and rope and walks toward the sheriff. Stiles seats himself back down, watching Derek almost out of view in the side mirror of the car. He cranes his neck at different angles to try and see his father but it’s to no avail. He relaxes back into the seat, impatiently waiting to help Derek before he catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye out the window.

“Oh shit!” Stiles panics as he sees the cockatrice looming, slowly slinking it’s way towards Derek. He grabs the passenger door handle and slams head-first into the glass when the door doesn’t open; the child-safety lock was still enabled. “MOTHERFUCKER!” he grimaces holding his stitched forehead. He scrambles to crawl over the center console of the Camaro, laying on the car horn to get Derek’s attention. He manages to get the door open as he’s sprawled out across the seats. “Derek! Derek, get the mirror!” he shouts, his body falling out of the car.

Derek’s eyes go wide as he drops the rope and makes a mad dash towards the mirror, the cockatrice now hot in pursuit. Derek shifts to wolf mode, snatches the mirror, and jumps on top of his car, turning to face the cockatrice. Before he can react, the cockatrice’s tail slashes through the air, shattering the mirror into pieces, embedding them deep within Derek as he’s smashed backwards through the air, skidding across the road, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

“Derek!” Stiles screams out as Derek’s body tumbles and rolls to a halt, fresh red streaks smeared along the pavement. Stiles scrambles to get to his feet as the cockatrice stalks down Derek’s spiritless body. He looks around frantically to draw the cockatrice’s focus away from Derek. He grabs a small mirror shard from the ground and chases after the cockatrice. He grips the shard tightly with both hands, cutting into his fingers, and stabs it into the tail of the cockatrice.

The cockatrice squawks as it thrashes its tail around wildly, shaking the glass free and spraying blood across Stiles and the car. It swats at Stiles with its tail, throwing him backwards and slamming him into the open Camaro door, tearing it off its hinges. He slams violently to the ground onto his stomach, his hands bleeding as he struggles to push up to his knees. He shouts and cries in agony, holding his ribs in unyielding pain, before he collapses back down.

“Stiles! Get up!” Derek manages to muster as the cockatrice draws closer.

Stiles sputters and coughs, blood dripping slowly out of his mouth and down his chin as he claws at the pavement and over the broken car door pieces, slowly pulling himself away from the approaching beast. His body falters and he falls face down, wheezing and weak, body writhing in pain against the road.

Derek struggles to sit upright, shards of mirror still embedded throughout his torso. “Stiles! You have to move!” he calls out, desperately pleading for Stiles to keep going. “Stiles!” He watches helplessly as the cockatrice approaches it’s new target with some hesitation. Stiles lays still on the broken door, his bleeding hands cupping his face, doing all that he can to avoid eye contact with the cockatrice.

It looms over Stiles, clawed foot pressing hard against his battered and bruised back as he screams out in pain. It’s talons curl around Stiles waist in an attempt to roll him over, to see him eye-to-eye, but Stiles fights it for as long as he can, his shirt being torn as the cockatrice’s claws pierce through, scratching and digging away at his skin as Stiles resists with all his might.

With one final charge, the cockatrice’s nails latch deep into Stiles’ flesh, ripping into him, and flipping him over onto his back. Stiles lets out a blood curdling scream as his torso is punctured by a talon. It bends over Stiles and hisses violently at his face, ready for its next victim.

“Stiles!” Derek yells out one last time. He notices Stiles is covering himself with something as the cockatrice looms.

“Who’s a pretty birdie?” Stiles coughs, holding the side-mirror from the Camaro door over his face.

The cockatrice screeches wildly as it stares back at its own reflection. 

Deafening silence.

The cries stop immediately as the petrification starts to take effect from its head down to its feet, spreading across its wings until its tail is frozen in place.

Stiles hesitantly removes the mirror to see Derek struggling to stand up beside the stoned cockatrice, baseball bat in hand, supporting him as a crutch. He swings it with full force, smashing the cockatrice in the head, shattering the statue into a million pieces, crumbling to dust swept away by the wind. The bat falls listlessly out of his hands, clanging loudly as it drops to the ground, while Derek collapses onto his back beside the rubble.

“Derek…” Stiles sputters, wiping blood from his own chin. He slowly pushes himself up to his feet and hobbles through the dust cloud over towards his alpha, clutching his ribs and the fresh claw marks. Derek is still breathing, but just barely.

Stiles wipes his bloodied hands off on his tattered shirt and positions himself, straddling Derek’s thighs. He grabs a hold of a large shard of mirrored glass sticking out of Derek and slowly starts removing it. “Come on, Derek. Wake up.” Stiles’ hands slide on the sharp edges of the glass as his blood drips from freshly torn wounds. He throws the removed piece over his shoulder and goes to work on the remaining fragments scattered throughout Derek’s upper body. “Wake up! You’ve gotta heal!”

Stiles frantically picks at the smaller bits of mirror as his hands become more and more shredded with each new piece. “Heal, damn it!” he shouts at Derek behind teary eyes. He pulls the last shard out and chucks it as hard as he can, sitting back on Derek’s legs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, still spreading blood across his cheeks. “Heal…” he cries, sniffling. Stiles buries his face in his hand as Derek still isn’t responding to his pleas. “You idiot…” he mutters under his breath.

“Who’s an idiot?” Derek finally croaks back.

Stiles drops his hands from his face and Derek is sitting up in front of him, shirt torn to pieces but all of his wounds are healing or already healed. “You are...” Stiles faintly smiles in disbelief, beating on Derek’s chest with the edge of his fists.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' back, pulling him in close as Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek hears Stiles inhale sharply as he makes contact with his wounds. “You’re in pain.”

“Yeah. I’m _well_ aware of that,” he winces in discomfort.

Derek pulls back and gets a look at Stiles who is bloody, battered, and bruised all over. “Where?”

“Think I might have broken a few ribs when I hit your car door. Also, I broke your car door. Sorry about that.” He lifts his shirt, “And there’s this,” he gestures to the claw wound on his waist.

Without hesitating, Derek’s hands easily tear Stiles’ shirt off, exposing the gash to the air. “Oh my god, Stiles…” he exclaims as he sees the myriad of other wounds he’s accumulated. Stiles slides his t-shirt completely off using what clean parts he can find to wipe blood from his face and hands.

“I’d say take me to the hospital but I don’t think there’s anyone around to help me at the moment.”

Derek gently traces his fingers around the open cuts, blood still barely trickling out, Stiles flinching at his touch. “I can’t heal you but I can take away the pain,” he says with hesitation, gently placing his palms against Stiles, gauging his pain level.

“But…” Stiles pauses, uncertain and thinking of all the wounds Derek just recovered from but it was too late. Derek was already absorbing Stiles’ pain, his eyes fixated on Stiles’ face, watching his expression intently as he pressed firmly against him. Dark veins surge to the surface of Stiles’ torso, passing between him and Derek, running up Derek’s forearms and under the sleeves of his shirt. Stiles throws his head back as a euphoric feeling takes over his body, leaving him breathless and, even if it’s only temporary, dulls the crippling pain he was feeling.

He drops his head back down as a pale and sweaty Derek grimaces in pain. Stiles moves his hands over Derek’s, slowly removing them from his body. “That’s enough,” he tells Derek as the veins fade from both of their bodies.

“Feel better?”

“For now…”

“We’ll get Scott’s mom to check you out once everything is back to normal…” Derek pauses. “As normal as Beacon Hills gets.”

“Scott…” Stiles trails off. “I want to see him. I want to be there when he’s released.”

“That won’t be until sunrise tomorrow.”

“I don’t care, dude. We’re the only two people left in town. We can’t do anything until tomorrow. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be a statue,” he sighs recalling Scott’s sacrifice. “I’ll wait for him.”

“Let’s go to the house. I should at least try to put the door back on my car.” He cocks his head to the side looking past Stiles at the heap of metal and broken glass.

“It’s not as soft as you would think.”

Derek rolls his eyes and looks up at Stiles under a furrowed brow. “Can you stand?”

Stiles realizes he’s been sitting in Derek’s lap for an embarrassing amount of time. “Think so…” He carefully braces his bloodied hands on Derek’s shoulders and gradually pushes himself upright, Derek positioning himself to catch Stiles should he fall. “Should probably bandage my hands.”

“And the rest of your wounds.” Derek rises to his feet and takes a look at Stiles’ bloodied appendages. “We can stop by the animal clinic on the way and find some stuff to clean them out and wrap them up.”

Derek picks up the discarded door and puts it in his trunk. “Are you okay to drive?” Stiles asks him.

“I think I’m better off than you are.”

Stiles silently agrees before looking over his shoulder at the tarp shelter built around his dad. 

“Let’s go.”

///

Stiles opens and closes his fists a few times, getting used to the bandages now wrapped around both of his hands, wiggling his fingertips. A damp washcloth and bucket filled with now redden water sits beside him, Derek wiping his face and body clean of blood before tending to his wounds to the best of his abilities.

“How does it feel?” Derek asks, voice laced with concern. “Too tight?”

They sit in what was rebuilt of the kitchen in the Hale house. Stiles is placed on the table so that Derek can easily tend to his injuries with what supplies they could gather from the rubble of the animal clinic. There is a little over ten hours until sunrise when the population of Beacon Hills would be set free from their petrified prison.

“I think I’ll manage.” He softly pats the cotton batting Derek had placed on his waist with a mittened hand. The effects of the pain transfer were still in full effect so Stiles’ body was blissfully unaware of the traumatic experience it had gone through, at least for the time being. “Thanks,” Stiles smiled in appreciation.

Derek could feel his face becoming flushed as his eyes scanned over Stiles, shirtless but bandaged in front of him, his body reading like a map of various bruises and contusions. “Let me know if you need…” he motions with his palms pressed towards Stiles. “You know?”

“Yeah. I will,” he smiles again at Derek.

“You still need to go to the hospital once all is said and done. You need stitches. _Again_.”

“Can’t Dea-”

Derek interrupts, knowing exactly where Stiles’ train of thought was headed. “No, Deaton can’t do them again. Who knows when he’ll be back in town. We’ll get Melissa to do it.”

Stiles groans in protest.

“I know you hate hospitals but it needs to be done properly and _not_ by a veterinarian.”

“Fine. If it’ll appease you,” Stiles rolls his eyes dramatically but with a sly grin on his face.

Derek huffs but smirks back. “I need to try to fix my car while there’s still fading daylight.”

“I’d offer to help but…” he holds up his bandaged hands. “You have another shirt kicking around here?” 

“Yeah, let me see what I can find,” Derek says as he leaves Stiles alone in the kitchen.

Stiles slowly shuffles towards the edge of the table, careful not to overexert himself. He may not be able to feel much in the way of pain at the moment but it doesn’t mean he can’t injure himself further. He slides his dangling feet to the ground, resting the small of his back against the side of the table as Derek comes back into the room with another presumably oversized t-shirt.

“Large is all I have,” he lobs it softly towards Stiles, watching the trajectory with his eyes. Stiles tries to clap the shirt gently between his hands but misses as the shirt falls to the ground at his feet, dropping his head in disappointment. “That catch was all yours,” Derek jests.

“And I blew it, I know,” Stiles sighs as he awkwardly bends over, attentive of his bandages.

“Here, let me,” Derek rushes over and picks up the shirt at Stiles’ feet. He crouches down in front of Stiles. Their eyes meet as he begins to stand back up, shirt in hand. Stiles can feel the air escaping his lungs as he gets lost in Derek’s eyes. “Can you…?” Derek starts, pushing the shirt towards Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head, his heart fluttering.

“Put your arms up,” Derek gestures.

Stiles slowly raises his arms over his head as Derek steps in between his legs, warmth emanating from his body. Derek moves Stiles’ arms close together, carefully sliding his bandaged hands through the sleeves of the shirt, one at a time. He tugs on the hem as he gently pulls the shirt down past Stiles’ shoulders, hands running along the underside of Stiles’s arms. He cautiously works the collar over Stiles’ head, careful of the stitches and newly formed bruise on his forehead. Stiles’ face pops through, his eyes closed, biting his lower lip to Derek’s soothing touch.

Derek’s eyes are now fixated on Stiles’ face, softly illuminated by the late afternoon sun falling through the windows. He watches the boy’s expression change as he slowly works his way down his body, clothing in hand as he grazes Stiles’ back, side, and chest, Stiles shuddering and chewing at his lip with even the slightest touch. “There,” he finally says as he finishes dressing him.

It isn’t until Stiles opens his eyes, heartbeat pounding, breathing heavily, that Derek leans in and kisses him on the forehead. It’s just a soft, brief meeting of skin, concise and to the point. They both smile softly at one another. Much like the previous night, they don’t discuss their actions, just accepting what is happening in the moment.

“I’ll be outside working on my car down the road so I’ll be able to hear you through the woods. Just holler if you need me, okay?”

Alone again, Stiles sighs and leans back on the table propped up by his elbows, looking up at the sun peeking through from behind the trees. It’s the last day. The cockatrice is gone. The curse will be broken at sunrise. He pushes himself back to his feet and finds the path behind the Hale house down to the creek where this all started, where he found the cave. He looks upstream towards the road in the distance where Derek was working on his car, turning the other way, walking downstream towards the reservoir where he last saw Scott.

He slowly makes his way to the reservoir, finding evidence of the struggle just days ago: broken bolas, discarded crossbow bolts, empty bomb casings. Stiles marches past them and plods along the shoreline, uphill to the area by rock outcrop. It doesn’t take long for him to spot the bright blue tarps between the trees, nearly side-by-side: one Allison, one Scott.

Stiles paces the area, looking for a nice tree where he can lean back against and observe from afar without having to actually see either Allison’s or Scott’s faces. He figured seeing Isaac and his father was more than enough petrified bodies for one person to see in a lifetime. He rests his back against a large oak tree and slowly shimmies himself to the ground, grimacing as he pushes back against the bark a little too roughly, trying to settle himself comfortably. The sun sits low across the horizon as the day winds to a close. He pulls his knees up to his chest and waits for the next day’s light to arrive, trying to not get lost in the thoughts of Derek, the kiss, and the night they had spent together in bed that were clouding his mind.

///

Stiles jolts awake in the darkness of night, slightly cold, body aching. He finds the same musty blanket from the other day draped over his shoulders, placed with care by Derek. He looks around sleepily for the alpha by his side but he’s still alone with the two tarp-cloaked silhouettes in the distance. He could already see the sky beginning to lighten along the horizon. He knows he won’t have to wait in the woods much longer. He wraps the blanket tighter around his body but doubles over in pain as it rubs against the claw wounds.

“Son of a…” he coughs out as he rolls over onto his non-injured side, lifting up his shirt. Blood has seeped through not only the bandages but also soaked and stained the shirt Derek put on him. And he didn’t feel any of it. He starts desperately contorting his body to find relief. He continues to cough as blood trickles out of the side of his mouth, grunting and groaning in crippling pain. He writhes around in the plant litter, pushing his forehead against the soft ground, trying to find a new position, any position for his torso as the pain level surges higher. His body is failing him. The werewolves can only alleviate the pain, not heal. The damage is done and it’s still there, taking a toll on him.

He claws at the soil, dirt burying deep under his nails as his heartbeat races, pounding in his throat. His mouth goes dry as his eyes strain and lose focus. He cries out for someone, anyone who will hear him, but it’s him alone in the forest, his body racing the slowly rising sun, but his voice is weak and unheard. His breathing is shallow and irregular as he frantically claws his way closer to the tarped figures, eyes flicking between them and the sunrise, but he’s spent. He can’t move any further. He lays out on his back, motionless as the warmth of the morning sun strikes his face, his eyes closed.

The sunlight hits the first body as it falls to the ground under the tarps; the second soon follows, both coughing and sputtering back to life.

“Scott?”

“Allison?”

The hunter sluggishly throws the tarps off of her body and clumsily jogs towards Scott’s voice, pulling the tarps off of him. “Scott, are you okay?” she asks, pulling him in for a hug.

“I think so. I just feel drained and weak.” He brushes twigs and dirt off of his knees as he slowly works his way upright. “I guess they did it?” Scott questions, his eyes scanning the area.

“They must have or else we wouldn’t-”

“Stiles! Hey Stiles!” Scott calls out, seeing his best friend laying down nearby, sun casting rays of light over him. He kneels beside him, “Hey buddy, wake up. It’s morning! I knew you could do this! Whoa hey, you shaved your head?”

“Scott? Scott! I think he’s bleeding!” an alarmed Allison points out, crouching down on the other side of Stiles’ still body.

“Stiles?!” Scott repeats carefully lifting his shirt.

“Oh my God,” Allison recoils looking at the blood-soaked bandages and contusions. “This is bad!” she exclaims as she wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth with her sleeve.

“What is he doing up here?!”

“We have to get him to a hospital. Now,” Allison says with panic in her voice. “Why isn’t he there already?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know! Can you get his feet? I can’t carry him alone.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Ready?” Scott asks. “On three. One… Two…”

Scott grabs Stiles under his arms while Allison lifts his feet, slowly shuffling him down the embankment.

“Stop. Scott, stop! I can’t… I can’t. I’m too exhausted,” she cries as she drops his feet back to the ground.

Scott keeps dragging Stiles, his heels trailing along the ground as Scott presses onward. Scott screams out in frustration as he trips backwards, Stiles limp body landing hard on top of him.

“Sco-”

“No! He did _not_ survive this to die here.” He pulls Stiles' body closer to him as he hugs him tightly from behind.

“Scott…” Allison mournfully repeats as the crouches at his side.

Scott inhales deeply as he howls valiantly into the early morning sky, exhausting the air supply in his lungs, dropping his head in defeat.

Stiles’ arm twitches under Scott’s grip.

“Stiles! Buddy? Wake up! Come on!” Scott encourages him.

Stiles groans incoherently as he struggles to maintain consciousness. He screams in agony, clutching his side and kicking his feet wildly as Scott struggles to keep him calm.

“Hold his legs still!” Scott orders Allison as she grips Stiles’ ankles.

Scott lifts up Stiles’ shirt and places his hands on his torso.

“Scott...Not too much. You’re still weak,” Allison says, holding onto Stiles tightly.

“He needs it more than I do.”

Dark veins rise to the surface of Stiles’ skin as they start moving up Scott’s forearms. Stiles arches his back in response to the pain relief while Scott holds his hands firmly against his side. Stiles fights his body’s reaction to Scott’s touch. It feels different, unlike when Derek did the same. Scott’s touch is friendly, sincere, warm-hearted; Derek’s touch felt inviting, personal, intimate. Both have a feeling of affection and loyalty but with different origins, a different bond.

“Scott, that’s enough!” Allison orders him to stop, grabbing at his hands as he struggles to keep himself and Stiles seated upright.

“No! I have to help him!” he swats her hands away.

“Scott!”

“Stop it!” Derek suddenly appears pulling Scott out from under Stiles as he falls limply to the ground. “You’re too weak to help him at the moment. You’re only going to hurt yourself!”

“Why isn’t he at a hospital?!” Allison asks.

“There was no one left except us. I treated the wounds the best I could and he didn’t say anything else so I thought… I thought he was okay.” Derek looks completely defeated, realizing how badly he must have screwed up. “I should have waited here with him…”

“We’ll take him now. There has to be someone who can help him.”

Derek bends over Stiles, scooping him up in his arms under his knees and back and starts carrying him down towards the reservoir. “Our cars are still upstream. We need to hurry.”

Stiles blurs in and out of reality as he bounces in Derek’s arms with every step he takes. He leans his head against Derek’s chest as his eyes droop open and close, only hearing bits and pieces of conversations:

_“Cockatrice...claws…mirror”_

_“Isaac! Are you...”_

_“Stay with me…”_

The sound of running water stirs Stiles again. He tilts his head, looking forward seeing Allison, Isaac, and Scott leading the foray upstream, some distance between them and the rest of the pack. Derek walks slowly with Stiles in his arms, careful not to jostle him, causing further injury, as Stiles cranes his neck upwards to look at Derek. 

“Stay still,” Derek hisses softly through clenched teeth.

Stiles mutters incoherently, trying to move about in Derek’s arms.

“Hold still!” Derek sternly orders again.

Stiles’ eyes drift closed as he nuzzles his head back into Derek’s chest.

He opens his eyes. This time he’s in the back seat of Allison’s car, resting against Derek, who’s staring vacantly out the car window as Allison speeds away from the Hale property towards Beacon Hills. Stiles can feel Derek’s touch under his shirt as he quietly helps relieve his pain. He settles comfortably against Derek, looking up at him as the sunlight shining through the trees pass over his face. Derek’s eyes flick down, making brief contact with Stiles before he looks back out the window, Stiles drifting off again, conversations rousing him from time to time:

_“...can’t afford this!”_

_“I’m paying…”_

_“You were...to protect him…”_

_“He saved me...saved us...”_

Stiles stirs awake early the next morning in the darkness of a hospital room, IV attached to the back of his hand. His eyes survey the room to see his dad slumped over a chair in the corner snoring, another empty chair close by his bedside. He twists his hips slightly, testing his pain tolerance. He folds his bed sheet down and lifts the side of his hospital gown. More stitches. The claw wound has been closed. He drops the gown and pulls the sheet back up to his chin, laying back against the poor excuse of what a hospital calls a pillow.

He stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the heavy breathing of his dad across the room. He was thankful that at least some things seemed to be returning to normal in the wake of the cockatrice. Despite being on a cocktail of painkillers and sedatives, Stiles felt restless and uncomfortable. He had spent the last two nights sleeping in extremely close quarters with Derek and now, he wasn’t there with him. He missed the warmth and security that he had with Derek. Now all he had was the sterile walls of the hospital, the hum of various monitoring machines.

Stiles rolls onto his non-injured side, staring at the empty chair beside him. He looks intently at the seat cushion and the indent of someone recently sitting there, slowly fading from the seat. He’s not sure whether his heavily medicated eyes are playing a trick on him or not so he carefully slides himself to the edge of the bed and reaches his hand out onto the seat. “ _Still warm…_ ”

Somebody was in that chair until very recently. It was adjacent to the window so the best assumption he could make was that some werewolf was by his side and took off when he started to wake, for whatever reason. It was times like this he wished he had werewolf scenting abilities, but figures he has enough issues being human that he didn’t need any more burdens.

He pulls his hand close to his chest, under the comfort of the hospital sheet. Stiles lays motionless on his side, looking out the window and the slowly lightening sky. He could hear the idle chatter of nurses and doctors in the hallway of the hospital. Morning was coming soon and hopefully that meant he could be on his way home. He closes his eyes but doesn’t actually fall asleep as the sun rises, shining brightly into his hospital room.

He’s not entirely sure how much time passes before someone sneaks quietly into the room. Stiles braces himself and rolls his shoulder over to see Melissa tiptoeing towards his father, file folder tucked under her arm and a small cup in her hand. She makes eye contact with Stiles and gives up her stealthy charade.

“How are you feeling?” she asks softly.

He rolls over onto his back as she reaches the side of his bed. “A little groggy but I’m not in that much pain, aside from lying in this awful bed,” he groans as he fidgets.

“No pain?” she asks, confused.

“Yeah, painkillers are a wonderful thing,” he grins lifting his IV hand.

Melissa gives him another puzzled look. “That’s just electrolytes so you don’t get dehydrated.” She holds the small paper cup out in her hand, presenting them towards Stiles. “ _These_ are painkillers.” Stiles reaches for the cup but she snatches them away. “If you’re not in any pain, you’re not going to take them!”

“What’s going on?” the confused sheriff asks, stirring from his slumber. “Hey, kiddo!” he smiles at his son.

Stiles smiles faintly back. “Hey, dad.”

“Glad to see you’re doing alright,” he yawns and stretches, rising slowly to his feet, Stiles now seeing his arm in a sling in the light.

“Are _you_ okay?” Stiles asks with concern.

His dad looks confused before gesturing slightly towards his arm. “This? It’ll be fine in a few days. Just a sprained elbow,” he chuckles. “You’re the one who’s got a dozen stitches across his side.”

“He says he’s not in any pain,” Melissa says suggestively.

“Oh really?” the sheriff smirks.

“I’m tired, which is really nothing new, but I’m not sore… What are you two going on about?”

A page rings out over the intercom system: “ _Melissa McCall, please come to the nurse’s station. Melissa McCall_.”

“Be right back,” she hurriedly exits the room.

“So, when am I getting out of here?”

His dad sits on the edge of the bed. “Twenty-four hours ago you almost bled out in the woods, and you’re concerned about going home?”

“So... _not_ today?”

“More like Sunday.”

“Ugh.”

Melissa pops her head back in the room, “Do you feel well enough to have visitors?”

“Who’s there?” Stiles asks, trying to peer past Melissa and the door.

“Come on, let us in!” an eager voice calls out from behind her.

“Hold on! He hasn’t answered yet. Stiles?”

“Yeah, sure,” he smiles.

Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac burst through the door, Scott practically knocking his mom over in the mayhem. “Easy, kids!” she scolds them. “And try to keep it down. This may be a private room but it’s still a hospital!” She notions with her head to the sheriff to leave the room.

“I’ll be just outside if you need anything,” his dad says, patting his son’s leg through the hospital blanket before following Melissa out of the room.

Scott practically tackles Stiles as he jumps on the bed to hug him. “Dude! How are you feeling? You had me worried!”

“Easy, Scott. He just had stitches yesterday!” Allison warns him, pulling Scott back slightly, but he remains seated at the top of the bed beside Stiles.

“Oh, right. Sorry!” he sheepishly apologizes to Stiles.

“No worries. I’m weirdly not in any pain.”

“You were bleeding. A lot,” Isaac comments.

“So I’ve heard,” Stiles chuckles. “Something like twelve stitches my dad said,” he softly rubs his side.

“And you’re not feeling it?” Lydia asks.

“Nope. No meds either. Which one of you do I have to thank for that?” he looks between Isaac and Scott.

“The hospital doesn’t allow overnight guests,” Scott answers. “My mom snuck your dad in because he absolutely refused to leave you here alone.”

“Well one of you two did your magical…werewolf…” he waves his fingers in the air to four confused faces. He drops his hands limply. “It was Derek, wasn’t it? Where is he?”

“Can’t reach him,” Isaac answers. “We tried to get a hold of him to let him know we were coming to visit you, but he hasn’t answered any of our calls or texts.”

“Ah…” Stiles tries not to hide his disappointment in not being able to see Derek, even if he was there with him last night. “Thanks for visiting. Sorry I can’t really be the most entertaining host right now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lydia scoffs. “We’d be dead if it weren’t for you and Derek.”

“Seriously!” Allison agrees, sitting at the foot of Stiles’ hospital bed. “If anything, we should be thanking you.”

Stiles feels humbled by the pack’s support. “You guys would have done the same…”

“But you succeeded where we failed. We work together as a pack,” Scott says as he wraps his arm around Stiles. “My mom says you’ll need to be here for another couple of nights. Just for observations.”

“Yeah, my dad told me…” Stiles sighs.

“But when you’re out of here, we’ll have a good pack night of binging on junk food, movies, and video games, maybe next weekend. Sound good?” Scott squeezes Stiles lightly.

“You’re on,” he grins in response. “Don’t we have school?”

“Closed today and all next week. Guess they want to give the town a few more days to get back to normal between the earthquake and cockatrice,” Allison answers.

“Normal and Beacon Hills are words that will _never_ go together…” Lydia rolls her eyes. “But I’m not complaining about an extra, extra long weekend,” she smacks her lips.

“Who are you to complain about being normal?” Isaac bursts out laughing.

“Hey!” she smacks the back of his arm in retort before the whole pack laughs together.

Stiles feels an overwhelming sense of relief being reunited with his pack, his friends. He just wishes Derek was there with everyone else.

///

Melissa enters Stiles’ hospital room well after the sun has set and his visitors have left for the day.

“Doing okay?” she asks, checking his vitals.

Stiles fidgets in his bed. “I think so. Long day of visitors,” he yawns.

“You try raising a kid and then tell me that was a long day,” she jokes with him. “No aches or pains?”

“A bit but it’s manageable,” he answers, looking around the room. “Where’s my dad?”

“I sent him home to sleep in his own bed. It was a risk having him here last night past visitor’s hours.” She finishes flipping through some papers before raising an eyebrow at Stiles. 

“Huh? What’s that look for?”

“I swear you kids are going to get me in serious trouble one day,” she sighs impatiently.

Stiles looks around confused. “What’re you talking about?”

“You can come in rather than sit outside, you know,” she calls out in the empty room. 

Stiles sits still as Melissa taps her foot against the tile floor.

“Derek Hale! I _know_ you can hear me.”

The hospital window opens from the outside as Derek sheepishly crawls his way in, sitting on the sill, a pillow tucked under his arms. “Evening, Melissa,” he blushes.

“Hi,” she replies curtly. “Or were you just going to sit out there until I left like you did last night?”

“Err...I uh…” Derek stammers over his words.

She sighs, throwing Derek a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything.”

“Thank you,” he smiles gratefully. 

“Just keep a low profile,” she commands, pointing a stern finger at both Derek and Stiles.

“I don’t think you have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles jokes from his bed.

“Be gone by morning before the orderly comes by, got it? She’s usually here around 7am.”

Derek nods in agreement as they both bid goodbye to Melissa. He swings his feet on the edge of the window as he hops down, taking a seat in the chair beside Stiles bed.

“Here,” Derek grunts as he pushes the pillow at Stiles.

“You brought my pillow!” Stiles smiles at the sight of it and hugs it tightly.

“Thought it might help you sleep better,” he smiles back.

“Thanks...and for the pain relief as well.”

Derek looks surprised. “You knew?”

“I knew someone stayed here with me last night and when you weren’t here today and nobody could reach you, I realized you stayed up all night to care for me and spent the day sleeping. I figured it out,” he taps his head. “With this.”

“Like you always do,” Derek smiles in response. “How are you feeling now?”

“Stiff and sore but nothing I can’t handle.”

Derek drags the chair to the edge of Stiles’ bed, folding down the sheet and gently lifting the side of the hospital gown, his eyes running over the stitched wound marked across Stiles’ waist. Derek looks up at Stiles as his hands hover over the area, waiting for permission before touching Stiles. Stiles nods silently and leans back on his pillow as Derek’s warm hands slide onto his skin. Stiles’ lungs swell with air as he relaxes under Derek’s touch. Black veins rush from Stiles’ skin to Derek’s hands and arms as he alleviates Stiles’ discomfort.

Stiles’ breathing is deep as his body becomes less tense, his eyes drooping closed with each passing moment. He tilts his head towards Derek, a goofy smile plastered on his face. “M’good,” he mutters as he places the palm of his hand on the back of Derek’s, interlacing their fingers, removing Derek’s hands from his body.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just wanna rest.”

“I’ll let you sle-” Derek says as he begins to rise to his feet, his hand still firmly clasped by Stiles.

“N-no. Stay,” Stiles demands, squeezing Derek’s hand tightly. “Please? I sleep better with you by my side.” Stiles slurs his words as he fights to stay awake with Derek. “I’m just as confused as you are by all of this,” he says tightening his grip on Derek’s hand. “But I want to see what happens next.”

“Worry about getting better first. Okay?”

“Kay…” Stiles trails off as he slips off to sleep.

///

Stiles awakens early the next morning to sound of birds outside his window, sun beaming through the open curtains. Their hands still locked together as the alpha sleeps soundly, hunched over in his chair and buried face first into the mattress on the edge of the hospital bed.

“Derek…” Stiles gently calls out his name, recalling what happened the last time he had to wake Derek up.

“Hmph…” he growls back in response.

“It’s morning. You need to get up before the nurse arrives.”

Derek rolls his head to the side and forces his eyes open, looking at Stiles. “Hi,” he grunts, smacking his lips together.

“Morning. Are you always this much of a pain in the ass to wake up?”

“If it means I get to spend a few more minutes with you, then yes,” he mutters, eyes fluttering closed again.

Stiles can feel himself becoming flushed as Derek’s breathing once again becomes heavy.

“Derek!” he shakes his arm as he calls his name. “We’re going to get Melissa in shit if you’re not out of here soon!”

Derek bolts upright and awake in the hospital chair. He squints and blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the bright morning light. “Okay, I’m awake,” he wobbles a bit.

“Are...you sure?” Stiles asks hesitantly.

“No,” Derek pauses. “But I gotta go!” He plants a quick peck on Stiles’ forehead before bolting out of his chair.

Stiles’ hand still gripping Derek tightly, he yanks him back as he falls onto the bed, bracing himself up with his arms on either side of Stiles.

“Not so fast...” Stiles bites his lower lip as Derek looms over him. He places his hands gently around the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him in close for a kiss on the lips. Their lips still press together with short, pecks before Stiles tongue slides out from between his teeth, licking at Derek’s lips, teasing at the tip of his mouth. It’s a gentle, soft first kiss.

Derek pulls back slightly, taking a moment to meet Stiles’ eyes before proceeding any further. He’s doe-eyed, looking up through long lashes, the edges of his eyes crinkling slightly as he tries to stifle his emotions, but his cheeks are flushed, eager for more.

Reading all the signals Stiles was sending, Derek doesn’t hesitate any further as he leans back in for their second kiss. It’s much more frantic, sloppy even. Derek cups Stiles’ jaw to provide stability between their faces. Despite their best efforts, there’s awkward bumping of teeth and tongues as Derek finds himself more on top of Stiles in bed than both had originally intended. Stiles’ lips and the edges of his mouth redden with slight irritation from the rough skin of Derek’s scruff rubbing as they continue to kiss and nuzzle.

Derek presses his forehead against Stiles’, running his tongue over his own lips after they finally break their kiss. “Now am I free to go?” He’s breathless, still leaning over an equally out of breath Stiles, craning his neck up for one last taste of Derek’s lips.

“For now. But there will be more where that came from,” Stiles winks. “If I weren’t for the whole hospital bed and fresh stitches situation, I’d probably have sex with you right here, right now.”

“How...romantic? I think?” Derek turns a deep shade of red as he fixes the collar on his shirt.

“I’m just playing, loverboy. Once I’m healed up, it’s over for you,” Stiles sticks out his tongue.

“Looking forward to it.”

“See you soon? Please?” Stiles asks as Derek prepares his exit.

“I’ll be here tonight. And every night until you’re released.” Derek gives Stiles another quick peck on the lips before vaulting out the window as the morning nurse knocks on the door.

///

“I propose a toast,” Scott raises his glass. “To Stiles and Derek, for saving us, _all_ of Beacon Hills…” The pack looks over to Stiles cuddled up close beside Derek, teasing his face with a spoon full of ice cream, both completely oblivious to the on-going festivities. “Who seem too distracted by each other to even be paying attention to what I’m saying so why does it matter?” Scott laughs as he finishes his toast.

“Huh? What?” Stiles looks over as Derek steals the spoon and ice cream from him, “Hey!” he shoves Derek, spoon contently snug in his mouth.

This is the first evening Derek and Stiles have been able to spend together outside of the hospital not under the supervision of some sort of parental figure. As promised, Derek visited Saturday night and then again on Sunday night after they decided to hold Stiles over for one more day, just for observations before he was released on Monday. The rest of the week, despite their best efforts, the sheriff had a keen eye on Stiles and he wasn’t allowed out of the house for any reason. That didn’t stop Derek from sneaking in through Stiles’ bedroom window. It was no secret to anyone in the house, nor the patrol cars outside, but the sheriff figured Derek sneaking in was better than Stiles trying to sneak out. Stiles might have called it the best week of sleep in his life.

“What happened to you two?” Allison asks confused. “I mean, don’t get me wrong I’m happy for whatever’s going on between you guys. It’s just highly unusual to see you two, well, cuddling? Is that what this is?” she giggles. 

“Stiles saved all of us. He saved me. Kept me sane and grounded,” Derek says, removing the spoon from his mouth. “He keeps me grounded. Anchored.”

“Hey. You helped too,” Stiles deflects the attention. “I dunno. We just...did good together when we only had each other? He cares for all of you more than I had ever noticed before and that’s attractive as hell,” he leans his head back on Derek’s chest, smiling up at him, much to Derek’s embarrassment. “He’s a good leader.”

He swings his arm around Stiles, firmly palming his chest. “I’m nothing without my pack,” he eyes travel between Isaac, Lydia, Allison, and Scott. “Stiles figured it all out. He worked tirelessly. We owe him our lives,” he gently squeezes at Stiles’ pec through his shirt.

“Alright, enough of this lovey dovey shit,” Isaac pipes up. “What are we watching?”

“I told Stiles it was his choice and he picked…” Scott looks over, waiting for an answer.

“Rogue One!”

“Again?!” Lydia protests. “Didn’t we watch this last time you chose?”

“Yes. And I love it. So settle in for an action packed space opera adventure,” Stiles proudly announces as he settles his back comfortably against Derek’s torso.

He falls asleep five minutes into the movie.

When he awakens, it’s just him and Derek alone in the loft. He’s still pressed snuggly against his alpha. “What time is it?” he rubs his eyes, looking up at Derek, his face illuminated by his phone.

“Just after midnight,” he puts his phone down turning his attention to Stiles. “You passed out almost as soon as the opening credits started.”

“Oh god,” he buries his face in his hands. “I’m so embarrassed. You could have woken me up so you could have moved or something.”

“It’s fine. I was comfortable too,” Derek gruffly answers. “And don’t be embarrassed. Everyone understands how exhausted you’ve been during this whole recovery process. I think everyone was happy to just spend time together, awake or not,” he smirks. “Clearly you need the rest.”

“I mean, if you weren’t so damn comfy to sleep against, there wouldn’t be any problem,” Stiles laughs, shimmying his shoulders against Derek’s thigh, resting his head down on Derek’s lap. “I could sleep here all night!”

Stiles relaxes, his eyes falling shut as Derek’s fingers comb gently back and forth against his buzzed hair. A soft quiet falling throughout the loft until Derek speaks up. “Your hair grows fast.”

“That’s why I used to keep it buzzed all the time. Low maintenance.” Stiles’ body is humming under Derek’s continued touch. “I prefer it longer though.”

“Me too.”

Stiles’ breathing slows as he relaxes with Derek’s fingers massaging through his hair, enjoying the silence of each other’s company. “It’s funny…” Stiles starts unprovoked, eyes still closed as Derek’s pace slows to listen. “...when we had nobody else but each other, all I wanted was to bring everyone back. And now that everyone is back, all I want to do is spend my time alone with you.”

Stiles waits for any sort of verbal reply from Derek, still stroking his hair, before opening his eyes. Derek’s lips are pressed together, curled up in a genuine smile staring down at him, a sparkle in his eye. “W-what?” Stiles chuckles a mixture of nervousness and curiosity. 

“Sit up,” Derek suggests, patting his hand against the armrest of the couch beside them.

“Why?” Stiles protests, still comfy laying on Derek.

“Because I can’t kiss you when you’re down there.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide as he quickly shimmies upright, sliding his back across Derek’s lap, resting mostly across Derek and on the side of the couch. “You were saying?” he grins as Derek’s lips press against his.

“This is what I was saying,” he pulls Stiles up onto his lap, hands settled comfortably onto his waist while flirting with the hem of his t-shirt. Derek pulls Stiles close, their chests pressed together, the sound of kisses filling the air.

Stiles starts to giggle between each kiss as Derek’s hands travel the length of his t-shirt, sliding under the hem line, soft fingers grazing over his mostly healed wound, gently brushing back and forth along his torso, pale skin of his midriff exposed to the air. Stiles snickers some more, Derek finally breaking their kiss.

“What?” he pulls back to ask with concern. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“That is the _last_ thing I want you to do,” Stiles pauses as he strokes his hand through Derek’s hair. “I just… I never thought after what happened over the last two weeks would lead to us together here and now. I mean… I figured after we jerked-”

“Stiles!” Derek interrupts, clearly embarrassed as Stiles’ crass nature.

“Oh _NOW_ you’re acting timid with your hands up my shirt after they were already down my pants and my hand was down yours?” Stiles sticks his tongue out between his teeth. “Or do I need to remind you how that felt?” Stiles purrs into Derek’s ear as he cups his hand over his crotch.

Derek’s whole body tenses up as he shudders, eyes closed, biting his lower lip and Stiles continues to rub the fabric of his jeans. Stiles wastes no time removing Derek’s belt, discarding it somewhere across the room with an echoing clang, buttons on his jeans popped open. Of course, Derek isn’t wearing underwear.

Stiles' hand slides into Derek’s jeans, fingers tracing Derek’s arousal, met back with Derek thrusting against his hand, his forehead falling forward against Stiles’ shoulder as he eagerly bucks and grinds against Stiles’ grip. Stiles kisses at Derek’s exposed neck, breathing hot against his skin. “I think we need to do more than just jerk each other off tonight,” he whispers, still stroking Derek as he drips precome onto Stiles’ hands. 

“What do you feel comfortable doing?” Derek manages to croak between distracted breaths.

“Everything and anything,” Stiles answers back with certainty. “As long as it’s with you.”

Derek braces himself upright, cheeks flushed, soft brows intently studying Stiles’ face and motive. “Are you sure?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.” He licks his lips. “My wounds are healed. You’re here with me. This is what I want.”

Derek smiles pleasantly as he leans back on the couch, pushing up to slide his jeans down past his thigh to the floor. Stiles looks down between them at Derek’s pronounced arousal, dripping and engorged. Stiles brings his hand up to his mouth, tongue licking Derek’s precome clean from his fingers, Derek huffing delightfully at the sight. His thumb wipes along the edge of Stiles’ mouth, cleaning up his own fluid from Stiles’ lips. He pauses before another kiss, silently raising his eyebrows at Stiles before proceeding further. Stiles bites his lower lip, eagerly nodding back in approval.

Derek, now completely naked from the waist down, scoops Stiles up in his arms carrying him with ease to his bedroom, lowering them together gently back onto his bed, Derek underneath Stiles.

His hands slide down the back of Stiles’ pants, fingers stumbling along the elastic of Stiles’ boxers. “Unlike _some_ people here, I’m wearing underwear,” he announces as if it matters, well aware that he won’t be wearing them for much longer.

“Too confining,” Derek grunts between kisses along Stiles’ neck, his jeans and underwear being tugged down inch by inch. “Take em off.”

Stiles rises to his feet, standing on the bed with his legs still on either side of Derek. “Next time, I won’t wear underwear if you don’t want me to,” Stiles suggests innocently, inciting a near feral response from Derek as his pants are rapidly stripped from his body. “Whoa okay okay. Easy, boy. These are expensive jea-oh my god!” Stiles can’t finish his sentence before Derek has shucked Stiles’ remaining clothes clean off his legs, leaving him standing in only his shirt, which he quickly removes anyways, as he sits back down on Derek’s waist, Derek’s erection pressing up his backside, sliding against his sensitive hole.

Derek sits up as they grind together on his bed, both men grunting and groaning as they explore each other’s bodies for the first time. Stiles’ lets out a soft whimper feeling Derek’s cock pressing against him, both eager for the experience. “Can we…” Stiles coyly suggests, his kneeling legs spread wide across Derek’s lap, their sweat-laden foreheads pressing together between kisses.

Derek arches an eyebrow looking back at Stiles beneath him. “You sure?” Derek asks for the second time in as many minutes.

“Yes, I’m sure! Come on! I’m here _naked_ and you’re-” he pinches the fabric of Derek’s shirt between his fingers, pulling at it.

Derek puts a slight distance between their bodies, fingers firmly gripping at the collar of his henley, effortlessly tearing it apart, rippling muscles exposed under a light sheen of sweat.

“O-oh…” Stiles is a combination of shocked and disappointed.

“What?” Derek is immediately confused by his partner’s saddened expression.

“I liked that shirt on you. It’s one of my favorites. Well, it was...”

“I-”

“I mean, I will now admit that I like it better _off_ you and that was hot to witness but you didn’t have to rip it to shreds.”

Derek discards what’s left of his shirt, resuming their hot and heavy makeout session. “How did you want to…” Derek needily whispers into Stiles’ ear, still grinding against him.

“I’ve...never done this before,” Stiles replies back nervously, his hands still eagerly exploring Derek’s body. “I want to.”

“Do you know what you want?”

“You. I want to see your face. I want to see all the feelings and emotions you’re experiencing with me. I want us to have this moment together.”

“Okay,” Derek smiles warmly, reaching past Stiles to grab lubricant from his nightstand.

In a matter of minutes of heavy foreplay, Stiles has been prepped and loosened, Derek’s slickened fingers popping out of him, much to Stiles’ dismay, but he knows something will soon fill him back up. He trembles at the thought that he’s finally losing his virginity and with Derek Hale of all people. His legs still splayed wide across Derek’s waist, he holds his breath, preparing for what's to come. 

Derek lubes his hand, slicking up his cock, wetting Stiles’ hole, pressing against it but not penetrating. “When you’re ready, just ease yourself onto it. Don’t rush. We’ll take it slow.”

Stiles bites his lower lip and nods silently, pushing back against Derek’s erection as it rubs across his hole, enjoying the friction of his own cock pressed against Derek’s body, leaving a trail precome on his abdomen. Derek paws at Stiles’ ass, spreading his cheeks wide as Stiles continues to rut his hips back and forth on his waist.

When Stiles finally slows his pace lifting his hips into the air, he leans forward to kiss Derek again before reaching behind to hold the base of Derek’s member, keeping it firm as he positions it in line with his hole. Stiles winces, clamping his eyes shut as the swollen head pushes against the tight ring of muscles, easing gradually inside. He huffs as he adjusts to be stretched out by Derek, his partner softly whispering encouragement, 

“Nice and slow… Take your time…” Derek gently strokes Stiles thighs, his waist, his chest, calming him with enticing words and a soft touch. “You look so good. Open your eyes. I want you to see me.”

The edges of Stiles’ eyes are watering as they slightly open, still getting accustomed to the feeling of Derek opening him up. He fights to keep them open through the painful stretch of Derek’s cock entering his body. Derek’s face is soft, fraught with concern for Stiles’ pleasure and enjoyment. Stiles’ free hand caresses Derek’s neck, cupping his jaw, bending forwards to meet him for another kiss. 

“How does it feel?” Derek speaks into his mouth.

“Mmm,” Stiles can’t properly formulate words as he pants for breath, inch by inch of Derek slowly sinking into him. “Ah-” he stops to adjust to the stretch of Derek’s veiny cock.”

“Good. Take it easy. We want this to feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whimpers, his brow glistening with sweat, face reddening with intensity.

“You look incredible,” Derek showers him with compliments in hopes of relaxing his tense muscles. “You feel so warm inside. Your scent is absolutely intoxicating.” Derek sits up and buries his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply. “God, Stiles, you have no idea how hard you’re making me.”

A deep growl builds in Derek’s throat as Stiles settles down to the base of Derek’s arousal. Stiles groans in pleasure as the girthiest part holds him stretched and open for Derek. Stiles clasps his hands together around Derek’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. Stiles is breathless, keen to find pleasure through the pain.

“Don’t rush. You’ll get used to it,” Derek kisses softly against Stiles’ lips, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Whenever you’re ready. It’s just us together still. It was just us together last week in your bed. It will still be us together after today.”

Stiles steadies his breathing, lightly shifting his weight around as he slowly gets accustomed to the feeling of his partner filling him. “Derek, I-” he starts with a whimper before moaning loudly against Derek’s shoulder as he finds a position where Derek’s cock pushes against his prostate. “Holy shit,” he cries out, his entire body flooding with endorphins. Face still pressed against Derek’s shoulder, he tilts his hips back and forth, the rush washing over his body again and again with each point of contact.

“That’s it,” Derek calmly breathes into his ear, softly tracing his fingertips up and down Stiles’ back as Stiles moans and swears against Derek’s skin. “Make yourself comfortable. And when you’re ready, find a rhythm,” Derek purrs, embracing Stiles, their skin sticky and sweaty. He holds Stiles, the boy’s breathing slowing to a more even, calm pace as Derek coaches them through the process together.

Stiles finally relaxes, lifting his head from Derek’s shoulder, cheeks flushed, lips reddened, eyes shimmering under long lashes. “I think I’m ready,” are the first coherent, non-swear words he’s uttered in minutes.

Derek brushes his hand across Stiles’ sweated brow, circling around his jawline, cupping his chin for another soft kiss. “I’ll follow your lead,” his hands drop onto Stiles’ waist, fingers curling lightly into his hips.

Stiles nods as he tangles his fingers through the lengths of Derek’s now messy hair, settling where his neck meets his shoulders. His motion starts slow, with a tilt and rise of his hips before settling back onto Derek’s lap, a slight grimace followed by a loud and passionate moan of ecstasy. “F-fuck,” Stiles breathlessly mutters quickly repeating the motion.

One of Derek’s hands slides up Stiles’ back, brushing through his short buzz cut, holding the back of his head steady to kiss while Stiles quickens the pace. He rides Derek from base to tip, bottoming out on Derek’s lap with each motion, his own cock pressed between him and Derek, coating Derek’s abs in precome.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles is sweating, bouncing blissfully up and down together on his bed. Derek removes his hand from Stiles’ head, running it softly over Stiles’ body, cupping his neck, back of his fingers scratching down his chest leaving a trail of red marks across Stiles’ pale skin, sliding through the sticky precome in his treasure trail, before gripping at the sensitive head of his cut cock, thumb rubbing back and forth across the slit of the head.

Stiles grabs at Derek’s wrist, eager for him to slow his jerking motion so they can come together. Derek glowers, a possessive growl as he stubbornly and slowly continues to stroke Stiles, staring Stiles down, glints of red bleeding into the red of his eyes. “Easy, boy,” Stiles desperately pleads. “You’re gonna make me come.”

Derek bites at Stiles’ mouth, feverish kissing and tasting him. “That’s the plan,” he continues to torment Stiles with his fist awkwardly stroking between their two bodies. “Wanna feel your body tighten for me when you shoot,” the flashes of red pass through his eyes again as he stares down Stiles.

Stiles scowls stubbornly, eyes narrowing in defiance. “You think so, huh? Not if I make you come first,” he declares as if it were now a contest, eager to get Derek off before himself. He leans back on the palms of his hands, wrists bent, back arched, and body splayed out on top of Derek. Derek lays back on his bed, his hands gently rubbing the length of Stiles’ flexed thighs, giving him added support and stability.

Stiles’ hips start gyrating quickly against Derek’s lap, riding up and down as his own erection slaps against his belly. There’s a lust and passion in his eyes, a biting of his lower lip, his gaze intently fixated on Derek’s. As much as he tries to resist, Derek can’t help but start thrusting to match Stiles’ rhythm. In return, Stiles tightens and clenches his ringed muscle, contracting over the most sensitive part of Derek’s cock. Derek gasps excitedly between thrusts, grimacing as he tries to conceal his pleasure from Stiles.

“You like that, huh?” Stiles taunts. Derek’s eyes simply flare red in response. “I can feel how hard you are. Just throbbing. Aching for release.”

Derek growls, his eyes staying red this time, fingers sliding from Stiles’ thigh and curling around his precome soaked cock, running his slickened hand across the head. He brings his hand up to his mouth, making sure Stiles is watching as he sucks his precome from the skin between his index finger and thumb. He spits in his hand again, bringing back down to Stiles’ attention-starved erection.

Stiles groans loudly, pumping his hips back onto Derek and forward into his hand, feeling the pressure building within and he approaches climax. “D-Der-” he can’t formulate words. “Derek, please,” he begs. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” Derek growls seductively. “Gonna fuck it out of you.”

“Ahhhh-” Stiles screams as Derek wraps his arms around Stiles upper back and neck, pulling him close, their bodies pressed together, maintaining their rhythmic pace. Stiles moans into the crook of Derek’s neck, his come painting across Derek’s abdomen with thick, white ribbons, his cock still twitching. His hole muscles contract tight on Derek’s cock as he thrusts into Stiles with one final time, unleashing a euphoric how, his cock buried deep in his partner’s ass. Stiles cups his hands around the back of Derek’s neck, kissing him through the rushing waves of bliss passing between their bodies.

Their sweaty foreheads press together, Derek looking down at the mess Stiles made on his body. He slides two fingers into it, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. “Looks like you lost the race,” Derek gloats, still snuggly nestled inside Stiles.

“Are you kidding?” he peppers Derek’s mouth with quick kisses, tasting himself on Derek’s tongue. “There’s no losers here. I’d like to think we both won.”

“I guess you’re right,” Derek smirks, kissing Stiles back.

Stiles is weak in the knees, Derek helping him roll off his lap as they lay side by side on Derek’s bed, both sweaty and messy, exhausted from their session. “Can we go clean up?”

Derek leads them together to the bathroom, turning on the shower, his back to Stiles as he tests the temperature of the water.. “Did you mean what you said?” Stiles breaks the afterglow silence to ask as he looks at the assortment of mild love bites on his skin in the bathroom mirror.

“About what?” Derek looks back over his shoulder at Stiles’ reflection. 

“That it’ll still be us together after today?”

Derek turns to stand behind Stiles, chin resting on his shoulder, his hands listlessly stroking up and down Stiles’ pale torso. “Of course I meant it,” he caresses his hand over Stiles’ chest, kissing the side of his cheek. “I don’t want anybody else by my side. I wouldn’t say things like that if I didn’t mean it.” 

“Good. Because after all we’ve been through, you won’t be able to get rid of me that easily,” Stiles proudly announces, smiling softly at Derek’s reflection. “You and me. Together.”


End file.
